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ZION. 



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Ames' Edition of Plays. 



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164 

39 

43 

100 

125 

89 

113 

14 

160 

161 

60 

!62 

173 

143 

176 

162 

117 

52 

76 

141 

26 

191 

194 

3 

9 

46 

163 
91 
36 
34 
81 
85 
83 

196 
29 
18 

no 

45 
79 

144 
67 
97 

119 
93 

112 
71 

105 

7 
193 



DRAMAS. 

A Desperate Game 3 2 

After Ten Years 7 5 

A Life's Revenge 7 5 

Arrah de Baugh 7 5 

Aurora Floyd 7 3 

Auld Robin Gray 25c 13 3 

Beautv of Lyons 11 2 

Bill Detrick 6 4 

Brigands of Calabria 6 1 

' 3 
2 
3 
4 
6 
•A 



Conn ; or, Love's Victoryl 

Dora 5 

Driven to the Wall 10 

Driven from Home 7 

Ea^t Lynne 7 

Emigrant's Daughter 8 

Factory Girl 6 3 

Fielding Manor 9 6 

Hal Hazard, 25c 8 3 

Henry Granden II 8 

How He Did It 3 2 

Hidden Trensures 4 2 

Hunter of the Alps 9 4 

Hidden Hand 10 C 

Lights and Shadows of 

the Great Rebellion 25 cts 10 5 

Lady of Lyons 12 5 

Lady And lev's Secret 6 4 

Man and Wife 12 7 

Miriam's Crime 5 2 

Michael Erie 8 3 

Millerof Derwent W'tr... 5 2 

Mistletoe Bough 7 3 

Old Fhil's Birthday 5 2 

Outcast's Wife 12 3 

Out on the World 5 4 

Oath Bound 5 3 

Painter of Ghent 5 2 

IVach^r's D«>om 8 3 

Reverses 12 68 

Rock Allen 5 3 

Spy of Atlanta, 25c 14 3 

Thekla 6 7 

The False Friend 6 1 

The Fatal Blow 7 1 

The Forty-Niners 10 4 

The Gentleman in Black 9 4 
The New Magdalen ..... 8 3 

The Reward of Crime 5 3 

Through Suow and Sun- 
shine 6 4 

The Vow of the Ornani ..' 6 1 
Toodles 6 2 



NO. 

2 On 

121 

41 



Uncle Toms Cabin 15 7 

Will-o'-the-Wisp » 4 

"Won at Last 7 3 

192 Zion 7 4 

TEMPERANCE PLAYS. 

73 At Last 7 1 

75 Adrift...., 6 4 

187 Aunt D'.nah's Pledge 7 3 

185 Drunkards Warning 6 3 

189 Drunkards Doom 15 5 

181 Fifteen years of a Drunk- 

ords Life 10 4 

183 Fruits of the Wine Cup... 6 4 

104 Lost 6 2 

146 Our Awlul Aunt 4 4 

53 Out in the Streets 6 4 

51 Rescued 5 3 

59 Saved 2 3 

102 Turn of the Tide 7 4 

63 Three Glasses a Day 4 2 

62 Ten Nights in Bar-Room 7 3 

58 Wrecked 9 3 

COMEDIES. 

168 A Pleasure Trip 7 3 

136 A Legal Holiday 5 3 

124 An Afflicted Family 7 5 

178 Caste 5 3 

199 Home 4 

174 Love's Labor Not. Lost.... 3 
149 New Years in N. Y 7 



37 Not So Bad ALer All 6 

I2ii Our Daughters 6 

114 Passions 8 

87 The Biter Bit 5 

TRAGEDIES. 

16 The Serf 6 

FARCES AND COMEDIETTAS. 

129 Aar-u-ag-oos 2 1 

132 Actor and Servant -, 2 

12 A Capital Match 3 2 

166 A Texan Mother-in-Law 4 2 

30 
169 

80 

73 



31 A Pet of the Public 4 

21 A Rom 9 1 tic Attachment.. 3 
123 A Thrilling Item 3 

20 A Ticket of Leave 3 

175 Betsey Bauer 2 

8 Better Half 5 

{■6 Back vs White 4 

22 Captain Smith 3 



A Day Well Spent 7 5 

A Regular Fix 5 4 

Alarmingly Suspicious ... 4 3 

An Awful Criminal 3 3 

65 An Unwelcome Return... 3 1 

2 
3 
1 
2 

2 
2 
2 
3 



ZION. 

A DRAMA, 

IN A PROLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS, 

, - BY — 

B. W. HOLLENBECK, M. D., 

Author of '• After Ten Years," 



TO WHICH IS ADDED 

A DESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUMES— CAST OF THE CHARACTERS- 
ENTRANCES AND EXITS— RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE 
PERFORMERS ON THE STAGE, AND THE WHOLE 
OF THE STAGE BUSINESS. 



FEINTED FROM THE AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT 



Entered according to act of Congrest in the year 1886, by 

A. D. AMES, 
in the office of the Librarian of Congrett at Wa*hington» 




JL. L>, .AiuttS, PUBLISHER. 

V 



ZION. "f^ 3 

3 



^H?^ 



CHABACTEBS IN THE PBOLOGUE 



JEPTHA MARWOOD A Mormon Elder. 

JAMES DAY The Husband 

JABEZ BLIGH A friend to Day. 

PETE A colored servant. 

MRS. DAY Wifeof Day. 

DORA DAY {ten years of age) Daughter of Day. 



A period of eight years is supposed to have elapsed between the 
Prologue and Act First. 



CHABACTEBS IK THE DBAMA. 



JEPTHA MARWOOD A Mormon Elder. 

JAMES DAY The wronged husband. 

OBADIAH GORHAM A "destroying Angel." 

OSCAR DURAND A young "Gentile.^ 

JABEZ BLIGH. . A friend to Day. 

BARNABAS GRUMP A Yankee. 

PETE A colored servant. 

MRS. DAY. . ., Wife of Day. 

DORA DAY {eighteen years old) Daughter of Day. 

JULIA EDWARDS Mrs. Marwood the seventh. 

LUCY STONE " " " eleventh 



TIME OF PLAYINa—TWO HOUBS. 



PBEFOBMANCE—FBEE. 

TMP96-006562 



ZION 



COSTUMES MODEKN*. 

MA.RWOOD.— A plain black suit; white neck-tie. In Prologue — 
iron gray hair; in Drama — white hair; may wear beard or be clean 
shaven. Fifty years old in Prologue. 

James Day. — Thirty-five years old in Prologue. Neat gray suit 
in Prologue. Drama — hunting, or trapper's suit. 

Jabez Bligh. — Forty years of age. Prologue — homespun suit, 
woolen shirt with wide collar ; large black neck-kerchief. Drama 
— trapper's suit. 

Pete. — Prologue — homespun pants ; large figured cotton shirt ; 
old slouch hat ; large coarse shoes; white stockings. Drama — semi- 
hunting suit. 

Mrs. Day. — Prologue — house dress gray or brown. Drama — plain 
black dress, full skirt. 

Dora Day — Prologue — A. neat dressy child's suit. Drama, Act 
first — A neat traveling suit. Act second — dark dress. 

Oscar Durand. — Dark business suit. 

Obadiah Gorham. — Dark pants ; flannel shirt ; wide hat ; long boots ; 
dark coat; black hair and whiskers. 

Barnabas Grump. — Large checked pants; blue coat and waistcoat, 
brass buttons; white hat; coarse boots; sandy hair, mustache and 
imperial ; large figured shirt. 

Julia Edwards. — Plain dark dress, full skirt. 

Lucy Stoxe.— Plain dark dress, full skirt. This dress should be 
distinctive, a sort of Mormon uniform. 



PROPERTIES. 

PROLOGUE— better for Mrs. Day. 

DRAMA— Act first; guns for Day, Bligh and Pete; knife for Mrs. 
Day. Act second ; knife for Bligh. Act third; Pisto.1 for Bligh; 
knife for Gorham; shears for Mrs. Day. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

r., means Right; L., Left; r. h., Right Hand, l. h.. Left Hand; c, Centre; s. E. 
t 2d flu] Second Entrance; u. e., Upper Entrance; m. d., Middle Door; v., the Elat; 
d. r„. Door in Flat; r. c, Right of Centre; l. c, Left of Centre. 

r. r. c. c. l. c. L. 

■*** The reader is supposed to be upon the Stage, facing the audience. 



ZION. 



' PROLOGUE. 



SCENE.— A room plainly furnished in Day's house. Table R.; 
lounge l. ; chairs, etc. Doors c. and l. Discovered, Jeptha Mar- 
wood and Mrs. Emma Day, seated r., and l., of table. 

Marwood. I hope sister Day, you have considered your soul's sal- 
vation, and have concluded to participate in the joys of the saints ? 

Mrs. Day. Oh, brother Marwood, I am torn with conflicting 
emotions! My soul yearns for the "New Zion," but I cannot endure 
the thought of leaving my family. 

Mar. This yearning for worldly things, is a part of your trials — 
your crown will be all the brighter, for this chastening. 

Mrs. Day. If I could be sure of that, I would trample my love 
tinder my feet, and go forward to the promised land, singing ho- 
sanna. 

Mar. If you could be sure of it? My dear sister, I have told you 
only solemn facts. I am the prophet's accredited apostle, and by all 
my hopes of heaven, I swear to you, you will be eternally lost, 
thrust into outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnash- 
ing of teeth, forever and forever, if you do not accept the salvation 
now offered. None but a husband's hand can guide you to the joys 
of heaven — unless you are sealed to one of our holy saints, you are 
lost forever. 

Mrs. Day* Oh, I believe you! But leaving my husband and 
daughter, gives me untold agony. 

Mar. I assure you this feeling is the work of the devil, only dis- 
guised to draw you from the gates of Paradise, and plunge you into 
the depths of everlasting hell. 

Mrs. Day. If I could take my daughter with me. 

Mar, The will of the Lord has been spoken ; you are to learn all, 
and follow Him — if not, in that great day, when all shall be judged, 
the edict will be thundered forth, "Depart from me ye accursed in- 
to everlasting fire." You know the way, if you do not follow ic, 
your doom is sealed. 

Mrs. Day. But why should my daughter be left behind? I could 
nar her in the fait;h. Sfre would be such a comfort to me. 



ZION. 5 

Mar. (rising) I see my labor has been in vain. You are doomed, 
doomed. (going. 

Mrs. Day. Stay ! give me a little more time to think. I must have 
more time. 

Mar. You have not been hurried in your decision, sister Day. 
The voice of the Lord now calls me. There are many souls to save, 
and I must be about the harvest. If you do not wish to seek tha 
light, I will go at once — however, if you will leave this land of the 
Ishmaelites and seek the New Zion with me, I will wait until night. 
Make your choice at once, and remember, it is a choice for eternity. 

Mrs. Day. (starting up ) Give me another day, only one more ! 

Mar. It is impossible. The hand of the Lord is heavy upon me; 
benighted souls are seeking deliverance, I cannot allow them to seek 
in vain. Your soul is very dear to me, and I have periled hundreds 
in rav endeavors to save it — but now I must go, I bow to the will 
of God. 

Mrs. Day. The time has come. Oh, God be merciful ! 

(sinks on her knees by chair and buries her face in her hands. 

Mar. (spreading his hands above her) Holiness to the Lord ! Re- 
member, sister, you choose between the delights of heaven, and the 
anguish of hell. 

Mrs. Day, My choice is made, brother Marwood, I will seek the 
New Zion. * (rises. 

Mar. Heaven bless you! The choicest benedictions of heaven 
rest upon you ! 

Mrs. Day. My heart is breaking, help me brother Marwood! 

Mar. Look on high for aid — it will surely come. 

Mrs. Day. Brother Marwood, in takiugthisstep, I leave a happy 
home, a loving hushand, and a beautiful daughter. Are you sure 
you have not over-drawn the picture? Is the happiness of the saints 
as great as you depict? 

Mar. Sister Day, I have not deceived you, I swear it. Once in 
the walls of Zion, you will feel your emancipation from this ten- 
ement of clay. You will revel in the sweets of everlasting happiness, 
and sip the nectar of eternal life. 

Mrs. Day. I believe you implicity ; but if you have deceived me, 
I will be your Nemesis. I must prepare for our journey. What 
time will we start ? 

Mar. I will meet you at the large oak, at the outskirts of the 
village, at ten o'clock to-night. 

Mrs. Day. I will be there. (exit l. 

3Iar. Well, in an experience of twenty years I have not found so 
difficult a customer to deal with. When I get her to the Holy City, 
I will use less persuasion to bend her to my will. She is a magnifi- 
cent woman, and I cannot afford to lose her. I am running a great 
risk to obtain her ; but the prize is worth it. If her husband should 
overtake us, it would be short shrift and few prayers with me. 
Once I get her home, a legion of devils could not tear her from me. 
I wonder what she will say when she learns my intention is to make 
her the eighth Mrs. Marwood? There will be a scene no doubt, but 
I will own her then, body and soul— she must then do as I require. 

(exit l. 

Enter Jabez Bligh, c. 
BUgh. I kinder thought I'd find Day in here— I want tew talk 



6 zioisr. 

with him about that 'ere cussed old apostle, I don't like the way he's 
agoin' on a bit. Day'll wake up some o' these mornin's and find his- 
self a widder. I wish he'd send the old varmint a fly in' — if he'll only 
give me the chance, I'll elevate the old sinner a few. Now he's a 
purty apostle ain't he ? He's an apostle o' the devil if he's anything. 

Enter Pete, l. 

Pete, How de do, Massa Bligh ? Golly, didn't 'spec ter see yer 
heah. 

Bligh. What ye doin' here anyway, Pete ? I'm a good mind to 
wallop yer old bJack carcass jist for fun. 

Pete. Golly, dat wouldn't be berry much fun fer dis heah nigger, 
Massa Bligh. 

Bligh. Say Pete, do ye know where the apostle is ? 

Pete. What 'postle ye 'ferin' to, Massa, Bligh? De 'postle Paul? 

Bligh. No, I mean that 'are sneakin' old devil, what's bin a hang- 
in' round here fer a spell. 

Pete. On, dat 'are Massa Marwood? He'spowful 'ligious, he is. 

Bligh. Oh, he is, is he? How did you find it out? 

Pete. Kase I heerd him talkin' powful good ter Missus Day. 

Bligh. What did he say? Come, speak sudden ! 

Pete. I don't jes 'member, Massa Bligh, I clare to goodness I 
don't — but it were powful good, and powful 'ligious. 

Bligh. No doubt of it ; the sneakin' cuss. But what did Mrs. 
Day say ? 

Pete. She said she couldn't leab Massa Day, and little Missus, and 
Massa Marwood said she must leabe um — and den Missus Day, she 
cry. 

'Bligh. See here you nigger, you go an' find Day, quicker'n 
blazes ; come git ! {exit Pete, c, grinning) Curse that old sinner, 
if I kin git Day ter see the length o' his nose, we kin beat him yet. 
I'm purty sartin he's an old Mormon. If I knowed it fur sure, I'd 
hev him strung up ter a tree aforde he could squeal twice. This here 
ain't a healthy place fur that kind o' calamity. 

Enter Mr. Day, and Pete, c. 

Bay. Well, neighbor Bligh, Pete says you want to see me? 

Bliqh. Yaas, I want tu talk with ye about this ere blamed old 
apostle what is a makin' hisself so consarned numerous around here. 
. Day. Why, is there anything wrong with Mr. Marwood? 

Bligh. I'm orful feard thar is. 

Day. Sit down neighbor, {they sit) Now tell me what you know 
and suspect. 

Bligh. Wall, Mr. Day, I don't want tu hurt yer feelin', but I'm 
purty sartin the apostle is a tryin' mighty hard tu convert yer wife. 

Day. What do you mean, sir? Do you intend to insinuate that 
my wife is not honest? 

Bligh. No, sir, I don't mean tu insinerate nothin' o' the sort— I 
mean that there old apostle aint honest. 

Day. What makes you think that? 

Bligh. 'Cause, I've watched him right smart, an' I've found he's 
alaborin' mostly with the wimmen. 

Day, Is thar, all you have against him ? , 



ZION. 7 

Bligh. No, that aint all, I've mighty good reason tu think he's a 
Mormon apostle. 

Day. A Mormon ? What grounds have you for these suspicions ? 

Bligh, Wall, ye see, when he gits arter the females, he alius talks 
about goin' tu the New Zion ; and I reckon that's what them fellers 
call there city over in Utah, aint it? 

Day. Yes. 

Bligh. Wall, as nigh as I kin make out, he's a tryin' tu coax a lot 
o' these wiminen tu go tu that New Zion with him, an' I reckon 
you^t better be a lookin' out, or you'll wake up some o' these fine 
mornin's an' find yerself a widder. 

Day. (rising hastily) Stop ! Neighbor Bligh, my feelings at this 
moment prompts me to kill you. If I did not know your worth and 
true friendship, you should never leave this room with those words 
upon your lips. 

Bligh. I kinder 'spected you'd git riled— but what I'm a sayin', 
is fur yer good. I don't mean any insult tu nobody, an' I knowed 
it was mighty ticklish bizness tu talk tu ye as I've been talkin' ; but 
I want ye tu be a lookin' out, so I tuck the chance. I wish ye would 
go an' talk tu her about it. 

Day. I do not wish her to think I could entertain a suspicion of 
her, it would be an insult to her womanhood, and wifely honor, to 
ask her anything concerning Marwood's intentions. 

Bligh. That's all right, Mr. Day, but that infernal cuss keeps a 
talkin' tu her about this ere New Zion, an' I oelieve he's a tryin' tu 
coax her tu go thar. 

Day. And little good it will do him. But how do you know be 
talks to her so much about this New Zion? 

Bligh. In the fust place ; fustly, that nigger Pete, has heerd him 
a talkin' an' a preachin' tu her, an' then that's the way he does with 
all the wimmin. 

Day. See here, Pete, have you ever heard Mr. Marwood talking 
to Mrs. Day, about this New Zion ? 

Pete. Yes, sah, I done heerd Massa Marwood talkin' ter Missus 
Day. 'bout dat 'are place. 

Day. Can you tell me what he said? 

Bete. I forgit jes all Massa Marwood say, but he talked powful 
Uigeous. 

Day. Well, Pete, tell me something he said. 

Bete. Yes, massa, I can fcell yer all I kin 'member. He asked her 
if she'd go to dat 'are Zion place wid him, an' she say she can't leab 
de family, an' den she cried, an' den Massa Marwood he talked pow- 
ful 'ligeous, an' den Missus Day stop cryin' an' say she'd see him arter 
while — and dat's all I know 'bout dis heah Zion business. Tore de 
Lawd it am. 

Day. Are you sure you have made no mistake, Pete ? 

Bete. Golly, massa, I don't make no mistake. Dat am de truf, 
what I tells you. 

Bligh. Ye see Mr. Day, thar's sum reason fur lookin' arter this 
ere bizness. 

Day. I do not doubt my wife, but I am beginning to doubt this 
man Marwood. If half your suspicions are true, I will call him to 
an account he will not soon forget. 

Bilgh. An' if I was sure that he is a Mormon, I'd have his old 



8 ZION. 

carcass a swingin' from some tree in a mighty short time, I kin tell 
ye. 

Day, You seem to have a great dislike for the Mormons generally, 
neighbor? 

Bligh. I have Mr. Day. They lived close by this neck o' woods 
onct, an' I know suthin' o' their carryins on ; and I tell ye, thur aint 
one on them 'em but what desarves hangin\ 

Day. Why, what did they do? 

Bligh. Ye see Mr. Day, ye didn't live here then, an* so ye don't 
know about 'em like we'uns du what lived right along side o' 'em. 
Ye see at fust, they only tried tew make converts in a decent way ; 
but arter awhile some o' the apostles air* head men, begun tu talk 
free love, plural marriages, an' the like. An' then they begun tu 
break up families an' sich : an' I tell ye Mr. Day, my mother kinder* 
got wild about 'em, an' run away from home an' married one o' 
them 'ere saint ; an' when the varmints was drove out o' here, an 
went tu Illenoy, she went along an' when they got tu ISTauvoo, the 
man what she married here, tuk three or four more wives, an' when 
the people sent 'em a fly in' from there, they let my poor old mother 
starve an' freeze tu death on the plains. I know she didn't du right, 
but them infernal devils coaxed her intuit, an' I tell ye Mr. Day, I'd 
shoot a Mormon, quicker'n I'd shoot a coyote any time; an' now ye 
know why I talked as I did — I tell ye, ye must watch 'em, ye can't 
trn«t 'em at all. 

Dai. Pete, go and tell your mistress I would like to see her. 

fete. Yes, sah, all right, sah. (exit c. 

Bligh. Wall, Mr. Day, I'm glad yer a goin' tu look arter this 
thing, an' if ye find out that old cuss is a Mormon, let me know, 'an 
I'll make a dinner fur the buzzards out o' him. (exit l. 

Day. (seated at table) Is it possible this man is an adventurer, 
and has deceived my wife? But I would scarcely believe her guilty 
of even an indiscretion. She is the soul of honor, and I feel I am 
doing her a great wrong, when I speak of the matter, or give it a 
serious thought. I will caution her about this man — no I cannot do 
that, it would imply a doubt of her, and that I do not have. Bligh 
is too suspicious ; he cannot appreciate her nobleness and virtue. If 
I thought Marwood would attempt — pshaw, I will not think of such 
a possibility. I will make some excuse for sending for her, I can- 
not let her think I for a moment doubted her. 

Enter Mrs. Day, l. 

Mrs. Day. You sent for me James, is there anything you wish ? 

Day. Nothing at all my dear, only I think of going to Grayson's 
to-morrow, and I wanted to tell you to make arrangements to go 
with me. 

Mrs. Day. I should like to go very much. 

Day. I thought you would, and so 1 planned to go as much on 
your account as my own. I think we shall enjoy the trip. 

Mrs. Day. I am sure of it. (aside) Oh, I cannot meet his glance. 
How can I wrong him ho? 
\ Day. You are not well, you tremble, you must rest. 

^Mrs. Day. I am quite well — a little nervous is all. 

yay. I fear you are concealing the truth ; you have not been look- 
ing well, for several weeks. 



\ 



ZION, 9 

Mrs, Day, I assure you I am perfectly well, a trifle tired, nothing- 
more. 

Day. I hope Mr. Marwood will cut his stay short, it certainly adds 
to your cares to entertain him ; and besides I want yon all to myself 
again. 

Mrs. Day. He is soon going away, I believe. 

Day. Oh, by the way! to what' religeous denomination docs he 
belong? I never thought to ask before. 

Mrs. Day. To the reformed "Latter Day Saints" I believe. 

Day. What ! a Mormon ? 

Mrs. Day. Yes, but not one of those who believe in polygamy. 

Day. It is well he is going away ; if it should be known here that 
he is a Mormon, he would be hung to the nearest tree. 

Mrs. Day. Why would that be done? 

Day. Years ago, the Mormons came here and started a setlement, 
and so outraged the laws of decency that the people drove thein from 
the state. Many who live here now, remember the affair, and hate 
all who profess to believe in there tenets. The feeling is so strong, 
that Marwood would not be safe a moment, if he were suspected of 
being a Mormon. 

Mrs, Day. You must remember, James, Mr. Marwood does not 
believe in plural marriage ; he repudiates that doctrine. 

Day. It would be difficult for him to convince the people he does 
not believe it. 

Mrs. Day. Did you ever investigate the Mormon creed ? 

Day. No dear, the surface is sufficient to show its vileness and 
corruption. It is founded and maintained, for the sole purpose of 
pandering to the lust and cupidity of man ; it cannot have any foun- 
dation in fact. The assumption that Joseph Smith found print- 
ed plates engraved by the Almighty, from which was printed a new 
Bible, a new revelation being thus given to mankind, is a piece of 
ridiculous folly, too absurd to attract a moment's thought. 

Mrs. Day. You know there are many who believe in this new rev- 
elation; is it possible they are all wrong? 

Day. In my opinion, yes. There may be those who are sincere, 
but they are few. The whole thing is a noisome leprosy, a blot up- 
on our civilization. 

Mrs. Day. Can it be possible, a man like Mr. Marwood, would 
give countenance and sanction, to an institution as black as you have 
painted this to be ? 

Day. Are you attempting to defend Mormonism ? 

Mrs. Day. No, no, not at all, I thought you might be prejudiced 
against it — that is, I thought you might not know. 

Day. Might not know? Every one should know it is an outrage 
upon decency. Has that man Marwood attempted to convert you 
to his faith ? 

Mrs. Day. (agitated ) No, he has never said anything about it — 
that is, he never defended polygamy, he always conclemed that. 

Day. There is something you are trying to conceal from me. Tell 
me what it is. 

Mrs. Day. There is nothing — I assure you there is nothing. I am 
not feeling well to-day. 

Day. There is something wrong, I am sure of it; tell me what it 
is. Have you been induced to believe Mormonism? If you have, 
tell me so — l&t me convince you of your error — do not fear ; think 



10 HON. 

how I have loved and trusted you. The angels in heaven could not 
make me think ill of you. 

Mrs. Day. I know it! Oh, I know it! I will tell y >u what it is— 
hut not to-day — wait until to-morrow, and then you shall know all. 
Do not be too angry with me — wait until you know. 

Throws her arms about his neck, kisses him, and exit hastily e. 

Day. What can this mean ? I cannot believe she is untrue to me 
in thought or deed. I fear that man has had some evil influence 
over her; if I were sure he had. I would have his life. I shall know 
all to-morrow, and I have no doubt will laugh away her fears. This 
is very strange — doubts, fears and misgivings, crowd upon me, in 
wild confusion. There must be something wrong — yet, she is the soul 
of honor; I have never doubted — 1 will not doubt her now. This is 
the first cloud to cast a shadow upon our way; heretofore love and 
confidence have reigned supreme. But now, harrowing doubts arise 
and fill my heart with dark forebodings. Would to heaven the night 
were past! I must be alone ; solitude is my only refuge. Oh, this 
dull heartache. (exit slowly c. 

Enter Pete, l. 

Pete. 'Fore de Lawd ! Dis am de queerest doin's I eber seed. 
Missus Day cry and cry all de time, an' Massa Day look drefful 
sorry, an' Massa Marwood grin an' rub his hands, an' talks powful 
'ligious — I clare to goodness, it am awful queer, suah. 

Enter Dora Day, l. 

Dora. Oh, uncle Pete, what is the matter ? There is something 
wrong. 

Pete. Bress de Lawd, child ! der haint nuffin' wrong as I knows 
on. What fur yer tink there is sumfin' wrong ? 

Dora. Oh, I don't know! But mamma cries awfully, and papa 
looks as if he was sick. 

Pete. See heah little missy, don't yer go fer ter feelin' bad, dar 
haint no 'casion fer it. (aside) Cuss dat deblish old 'postle anyhow; 
he orter hab a good floggin'. 

Dora. What are you talking to yourself about, uncle Pete? 

Pete. I clare to goodness child, I don't know. 

Dora. Do you think mamma is sick ? 

Pete. No child, 1 don't tink she am. I reckon she feels a little 
nervous like, dat's all. 

Dora. Do folks cry when they are nervous, uncle Pete ? 

Pete. Yes, child, dey cries drefful sometimes, (aside) Damn dat 
'postle anyhow ! 

Dora. Did you swear, uncle Pete? 

Pete. Did I swar? Now honey, yer knows dat dis child nebber 
swars — I was jest sayin' some scripter, dat's all. 

Dora. I am glad you don't swear, uncle Pete — it's dreadful to 
swear. But I wish I knew what ails papa, and mamma. 

Pete. Now honey, don't fret; jes go ter bed an' go ter sleep, an' 
in de mornin' eberytin' will be all right. 

Dora. Oh, uncle Pete, I can't sleep, I know I can't ! 

Pete. Yes, yer kin; jes go an' say yer prars, an' de good Lawd 
will put yer right ter sleep child. 

Dora. Uncle Pete, I feel awfuly bad. 



ziojsr. u 

Pete. Bress yer heart, child ! I knows yer do — dar hain't nuffin' ter 
feel bad about. Go ter bed, an' den ye'll soon forget all about it. 

Dora. Oh, uncle Pete! what would" I do, if anything bad should 
happen to papa, and mamma? 

Pete. Dar won't nuffin' happen, don't yer be afraid child. See 
heah honey, if yer should hear me say sufim' dat sounds like swar 
words, don't yer tink I'se swarm', kase dat hain't it — I'll jes be 
sayin' scripter dat's all. Yer know Massa Mar wood talked mighty 
'ligeous an' 

Dora. I don't like Mr. Marwood, uncle Pete. 

Pete. Why, don't yer like him honey? 

Dora. I don't know, only I don't, that's all. 

Pete. It's queer, but dat's jes de way I feels. I don't know why 
I don't like him, but I don't, an' dat's de trul'e. (aside) Massa 
Bligh don't like him, say him damn raskil; little missus don't like 
him — and dis child tink him damn raskil too. 

Dora. Are you swearing again, uncle Pete? 

Pete. No child — no honey, I don't swar — I'se jes sayin' a tex, dat's 
all. Come child, go ter bed, uncle Pete '11 go too. 

{exit Dora and Pete, l. 

Enter Mrs. Day, c, with hat and shawl on — a letter in her hand. 

Mrs. Day. Here is my confession and my vindication, if there is 
any vindication for me. My heart sinks at what I am doing — but I 
cannot retract, I must go on. My course is irrevocably fixed; and 
now when it is too late, I repent of what I have done. Oh, if I only 
dare tell my husband all — no, no, I dare not, he would spurn me. 
This act severs my connection with all I hold most dear. If the fu- 
ture brings happiness, my dream will be realized ; if it brings sorrow 
and pain, 1 must bear it alone. Oh, Father! give me strength to 
bear, courage to endure, and faith to guide. Teach me the truth, 
and the way ; sweeten this cup of bitterness with Thy love ; bind up 
my bleeding, broken heart, with Thy tenderness. Farewell my home, 
beneath your shelter I have been the happiest of the happy. I have 
basked in the light of love and rejoiced. Years have come and gone 
freighted with joy; I have loved and been beloved — but now to all 
the past, farewell — to my old life — to my old love — to my old home 
farewell — farewell forever, (places letter on table and exits slowly c. 



SCENE II. — A street in first grooves. 

Enter Jeptha Marwood and Mrs. Day, l. Mrs. Day has on bonnet 
and shawl; Marwood is dressed for the street. 

Mar. Come, my dear sister, we must not delay a moment. 

Mrs. Day. Oh, it seems yet as if I must turn back. My brain is 
full of thoughts of my forsaken husband and child, and the home 
which has been so very, very happy. 

Mar. To hesitate now my dear sister, would be folly, indeed. Do 
not think of what you leave, but of the happiness which awaits you 
in the New Zion. 

Mrs. Day. No, I will go on— it is too late to go back; lead on, I 
will follow. 



Mar. My dear sister, you have made a wise conclusion, and once 
within the gates of the New Zion, the happiness you will.enjoy will 
more than compensate for the slight pangs you now feel, (looks at 
watch) We have only time to reach the depot — draw your veil close- 
ly over your face that you may not be recognized, and in a few hours* 
we shall be far on our journey. (exeunt R. 



SCENE III.— Same as scene first. 

Enter James Day, c, looking worn and weary. 

Bay. The night with its gloom and darkness is past — none can 
tell the agony I have endured; I cannot shake off the sickening fear. 
(sees letter and picks it up) What is this? a letter and addressed to 
me? and her writing — what can it mean? (opens letter and hastily 
glances over it) Gone, gone ! I must be dreaming ! This is a horrid 
nightmare ! No, no ! it is not — oh, heaven, it is not true ! Yes, yes, 
it is true — gone, gone, gone! (reads) "Believe me when I say, I 
I love you devotedly, but a Higher Power impels me to this step. I 
have gone never to return." There it is, gone, gone ! (reads) "Broth- 
er M;ir wood has convinced me this course is necessary." Brother 
M.arwood ! curse him ! curse him ! (reads) "I have gone to the New 
Zion — farewell forever." Can I endure this? 

(sinks in a chair by table, and buries his face in his hands. 

Enter Jabez Bligh, c. 

Bligh. Good mornin' Mr. Day, I felt anxious about you, and 

good heavens, man ! what on airth ails ye? 

Day. She has gone, gone! 

Bligh. Gone ! who has gone? I don't git yer meanin*. 

Day. My wife, man ! my wife ! Gone with that scoundrel Mar- 
wood. 

Bligh. I was afeared o' it, Mr. Day, I was afeared o' it. .1 know 
how them infernal varmints work. When did they go? 

Day. Last night. 

Bligh. Wall, we must folier 'em up. Ye don't have any idea 
which way they went du ye ? 

Day. No, only I suppose they would go direct to Utah. 

Bligh. Yaas, it's more'n likely they would. Will ye go with me 
Mr. Day, in search of her? 

Day. Go with you? certainly I will go with you. (starts up) Will 
you help me find them? 

Bligh. I will, an' I'll never stop 'till they're found. 

Day. Sweartomeby all you hold sacred, by all your hopes of 
heaven, if ever you meet that man, you will kill him then and there. 

Bligh. I swear it ; and if the time comes an' I fail tu keep my oath, 
may God Almighty strike me dead? 



Dora. Papa, papa! what is the matter? 

Day. (clasping her in his arms) Oh, my darling! my darling! 
that this should ever have come upon you. 
Dora. Oh, papa ! what has happened? 



Z10N. is 

Day, Your mother, child, (aside) Qh,|I cannot tell her* 

Dora. What is it papa, is she dead ? 

Day. No, no, dear — (aside) — would to heaven she were. 

Dora. What is it ? Oh, tell me what it is ? 

Day. Oh, child ! your mother is gone — left us forever. 

(sinks in a chair, 

Dora. Gone ! mamma gone ! Oh, papa, what shall we do — what 
shall we do ? 

Day. I do not know — I am dazed, bewildered, I cannot think. 

Bligh. Mr. Day, we've got somethin' tu do, and I say let us be a 
doin' it. 

Day. (starts up) Yes, we have something to do. He must die; 
the world is not wide enough for us both, I will follow him day and 
night — I will live onlj r for vengeance. 

Enter Pete, c. 

Bligh. Now yer talkin' bizness. My fingers itch tu git holt of 
him. 

Day. Do you know the nature of an oath, Dora ? 

Dora. Yes, papa. 

Day. If yon should take an oath, would you keep it always? 

Dora. Yes, papa. 

Day. Kneel, child! kneel! Raise your hands toward heaven! 
(Dora kneels and raises her hands) Dora child, will you promise, 
and swear upon your sacred honor, to devote your life, your strength, 
your entire energies to accomplish the death of Jeptha Marwood if 
I die before it is done? 

Dora. Yes, papa. 

Day. Will you promise and swear never to marry while Marwood 
lives ? 

Dora' Yes, papa. 

Day. Will you promise to carry out my schemes of vengeance if I 
fail, and if necessary take Marwood's life with your own hand? 

D ora. I will, papa. 

Day. Hear me. thou all seeing and eternal Creator! Thou, whom 
the sun, moon and stars obey ! and who knowest the secret thoughts 
of all mankind — hear me ! I swear to dedicate my life, my energies, 
and my substance to this act of holy vengeance. To have no other 
thoughts, no other aim in life than the destruction of that man. I 
will follow him relentlessly ; no sentiment of pity shall blunt the 
keen edge of my desire for vengeance. I will know no rest, no peace, 
while he lives ; I will kill him wherever I can find him, and may 
eternal misery blight me if I falter. May I be forever cursed, and 
may the wrath of outraged heaven follow me forever, if I fail to keep 
my oath. Amen. 



Bligh. 
Fete. 



Amen. 



C Uli T Am.— END OF FBOLOG TIE, 

A period of eight years is supposed to have elapsed between the Prologue and Act 

First. 



u zioisr 

THE DEAMA, 

ACT I. 

SCENE I.— A street in Salt Lake City, Utah. 

Enter from r., Dora Day and Oscar Durand. 

Durancl. You admit your love for me, Dora, why do you refuse 
to be my wife ? 

Dora. Because it is impossible, I cannot marry you — now. 

Durand. Not marry me now? Will you ever Inarry me? 

Dora. I do not know. 

Durand. You do not love me — you are plaj^ing with my feelings. 
"You give no reason for your strange conduct. If there is a bar to 
our marriage, why do you conceal it? 

Dora. Oh, Oscar, be merciful. You know I love you and only 
you — but I cannot marry you, indeed, indeed, I cannot. 

Durand. I know you say so, Dora; and you oughtin justice to me, 
injustice to yourself, to tell me the reason for your refusal. I am 
sure nothing you have done can be in the way of our marriage, and 
you cannot be held responsible for the acts of others. I do not wish 
to distress you, but I cannot accept a decision that will ruin two lives 
without investigation. I therefore insist on an explanation. 

Dora. I know I should tell you, but T shrink from laying bare a 
secret that makes my cheeks burn with shame, whenever I think of 
it. 

Durand. I am sorry to give you pain Dora, but I. must know why 
you refuse. Tell me, and I will explain away your scruples, we 
will yet be happy. 

Dora. It cannot be, you will turn from me with loathing, and horror 
when you know my errand here — when I tell you I am here for the 
sole purpose of taking a human life. 

Durand. Good heavens, Dora! you here for the purpose of mur- 
der? No, no, I cannot believe it. 

Dora. Yet it is true, I am here bound by a most solemn oath ; and 
with the deliberate intention of taking a human life. If you married 
me, you would ally yourself with a murderess; with one who has pre- 
meditated the deed for years— instead of clean pure hands, I would 
give you mine crimsoned with human blood. You shrink from me 
in horror now, and you have not heard all. 

Durand. Go on, go on ! tell me all ! 

D >ra. Listen. Eight years ago a serpent from this hell, entered 
the eden of my home, and destroyed its happiness forever. He be- 
guiled my mother with his pious cant; made her believe her only 
hope of salvation and eternal happiness, was through and in this so- 
called church. She fully believed his lying story, "fled with him to 
this plague-spot. My father was nearly distracted and believing in 
the justice of his course, dedicated his life to vengeance, and caused 
me to take a most solemn oath to carry outhis plans if he should fail; 
and further mjr oath stipulated that I should never marry while that 
villain lived. My father came here, but did not succeed in ridding 
the world of this monster. I have not heard from him for two years 
and have every reason to believeHhat he was killed by Mormon bul- 



ZIOK. 15 

lets at Mountain Meadows. I have found this wretch, and am pre- 
paring to accomplish my mission and fulfil my oath. I shrink from 
the task with horror, but I must do it — I have no choice. Now, you 
know my story, you understand my position, spurn me if you will. 

Durand. Spurn you, Dora? never! But I beg of you not to at- 
tempt this desperate deed. Remember Dora, if you do this, you will 
endanger yourliberty, your life. Think of the consequences— I know 
the grievance is 'great, and merits death; bat do not I beseech you, 
do not constitute yourself the avenger; let time and the Almighty 
avenge the wrong. 

Dora. It is not that I seek vengeance, but because of my oath that 
I am here. I am bound by that oath body and. soul—held to my task 
by a fate I cannot escape. 

Durand. That oath was given in childhood, given when you were 
too young to understand its full significance; given under circum- 
stances which ought not to bind you to its dreadful purpose. It can- 
not, it must not, sacrifice you to this fearful destiny ; you mast break 
that oath for me, for yourself, upon every human consideration, you 
must break it. 

Dora. I cannot, oh, I cannot escape my destiny ! That oath binds 
me to this juggernaut of duty with bands of steel that cannot be 
broken. I know I am the victim of a mistake; an innocent — an al- 
most unconscious instrument of crime. I dare not break my oath ! 

Durand. Promise me, not to do anything rash until you see me 
again. I am obliged to go on a journey, that may take me some 
time to accomplish. If I cannot persuade you to abandon your ter- 
rible purpose, I must be near to protect you. If you love me, 
promise. 

Dora. I promise you not to compromise myself during your 
absence. I am more than willing to postpone the evil day. 

Durand. God bless you, Dora, try and convince yourself it is not 
your duty to do this deed ; let me find you ready to forego your mad 
scheme when I return. 

Dora. I cannot break my oath ! 

Durand. Good-bye, love; my journey will be a sad one — I trust 
all will yet be well. Return at once to your boarding place, for there 
is danger on every hand. 

Dora. I do not fear, it is only across the street, (exit Durand l.) 
I have never fully realized the horror of my situation until the pre- 
sent moment, and now — it almost overwhelms me. Oh, could I but 
escape my fate, or if the sacrifice of my life would uproot and destroy 
this evil how gladly would I give it. Even if I strike down Mar- 
wood, he^is only one among thousands. Life here is a perpetual night- 
mare ; the sacred ties of home and family are unknown ; the cheerful 
group around the fireside is impossible ; filial love and respect are 
not thought of; lust with its attendant evils reigns supreme. 
Enter Jeptha Marwood, r. 

Mar. Ah, Miss Day, I am pleased to see you. 

Dora. You will excuse me, sir, the pleasure is not mutual. I do 
not wish to speak with you. [going. 

Mar. Stay a moment, I have something to say to you that you 
must hear. 

Dora. Speak quickly, I have no time to waste with you. 

Mar. Your time will not be wasted I assure you. My dear young 
lady you are no doubt well aware I have placed my affections" upon 



1Q Z10N. 

you, and that I desire you to be my wife. 1 can support you hand- 
somely, and can truly say you hold the first and only place in my 
heart. I wish to build up my kingdom and save your immortal soul. 
I therefore offer you the only means of salvation, and an opportunity 
to participate in the earthly joys of the New Zion, in company with 
the saints. 

Dora. I consider your proposal an insult, sir— how many wives 
have you now? 

Mar. Only twelve; but I assure you 

Dora. Stop ! Do you suppose I would become your mistress? 

Mar. You do not understand our peculiar institutions; we are 
allowed— nay commanded to consumate plural marriages. Our Holy 
Book expressly teaches this as the one paramount means of obtain- 
ing eternal felicity, and I warn you none but a husband's hand can 
guide you through the gates of Paradise— and that husband must be 
one of our Holy Saints. 

Dora. I tell you, sir, I would rather inherit eternal torments, 
than debase myself by becoming what you ask. 

Mar. Is there anything debasing in becoming an honored wife? 

Dora. An honored wife ? Dare you tell me the victims of these 
polygamous marriages are honored wives? The moral law, the laws 
of the land, condemn the system as criminal and scandalous. 

Mar. We are a law unto ourselves, and do not recognize any au- 
thority above and beyond our Holy Revelation. These observances 
are commanded from on High, and we obey them as the will of God. 

Dora. Do you pretend to believe Joseph Smith received a rev- 
elation from God ? 

Mar. Most assuredly I do ; and I also believe our present prophet, 
Brigham Young, receives communications direct from heaven. 

Dora. If I thought you believed this, I would pity your ignorance 
and credulity. But as I am positive you do not, I despise your hy- 
pocrisy, and unutterably detest the lust which prompts you to de- 
fend an institution so covered with reeking filth. You throw around 
all these shameful things the glamour of sanctity. You use the name 
of the Most High to enforce observances that degrade women, and 
destroy man's crowning glory, manhood; and you, despite these facts, 
dare ask me to go through this farce of marriage, and become your 
honored thirteenth wife ? Grey hairs should be honorable, but how 
shockingly misplaced is that crown of silver upon your head. Good- 
day, sir. (exit l. 

Mar. Well, well! that is the worst breeze I have been caught in 
for a long time. My lady soars high, and talks sharp ; but I have 
means at my command that will humble her pride, and break her 
proud spirit ; I will use them unsparingly ; I will bend her to my 
will, or — bury her. She is here alone, has no friends to make un- 
pleasant inquiries about her, consequently my way is clear. Gorham 
must bring her to my house, and when I have her in my strong room 
she will sing another tune, or I am greatly mistaken. I must do this 
at once, for if Brigham gets his eyes upon her I fear he will claim 
her for himself, and I know bv experience it would be useless to op- 
pose him. I will see Gorham immediately — hello! "talk about the 
devil, etc," here he comes; I will have this arranged now. 

Enter Obidiah Gorham, r. 
Gorham. How dy'e do brother Marwood? You seem to be in a 
brown study? 



ZION. 17 

Mar. Yes, I am in something of a study. I have a little job for 
you, brother Gorham. 

Gorham. Ah, what is it, I am really anxious to know? 

Mar. You know the girl, Day ? 

Gorham. Certainly ; it is a part of my business to know every one. 

Mar. I have a fancy for her — I want her for a wife. 

Gorham. Exactly ! Have you spoken to her about it? 

Mar. Yes, and got the worst bluff 1 ever received. 

Gorham. That is about what I should have expected. 

Mar. Well, Gorham, I am determined to possess her. I want you 
to bring her to my house as soon as possible; once under my control, 

I will find arguments to bend her to my will. 

Gorham. Am I to coax her, or use force? 

Mar. I do not care how you accomplish it. A little rough usage 
might be a good thing — it would teach her to respect our authority. 
My advice is, do not bandy Avords with her, just take her along 
whether she makes a fuss or not. 

Gorham. The last clause in your chapter of advice suits me. My 
observation is, these high headed females need a little rough handling 
to convince them Zion fs not to be trifled with. They see the beauties 
of our institutions more readly after doing a little penance. 

Mar. Generally speaking, I think you are right ; but you know- 
there are exceptions. Now in my little venture of eight years ago, 
the plan signally failed. You remembered the woman — all the ar- 
guments I could use were of no consequence; I tried moral suasion, 
until it ceased to be a virtue, and then resorted to sterner methods. I 
placed her in my strong room and kept her for days on a starvation 
diet of bread and water. I used the lash with unsparing hand — I 
made her a servant to my family, and caused her to do the most 
menial drudgery, but I could not exorcise the devil within her. Ycu 
know she made several attempts to escape, I then placed her in your 
care and she was returned to me a maniac, and I trust will always 
remain so — she is now useful to me therefore I keep her. 

Gorham. That is my idea brother Marwood, make 'em useful. If 
they refuse to be helpmates, the best plan in my opinion is to open 
the gates of Paradise and shove 'em through. 

Mar. You are about the coolest "destroying angel" we have ever 
had. It was fortunate, indeed, that the little affair at Mountain 

II endows brought j r ou to the Prophet's notice. 

Gorham: I tell you brother Marwood, that was a good job, and I 
enjoyed it. If we could get all these Gentiles into the same sort of 
place I would glory in finishing the whole tribe. 

Mar. Do not forget to bring that girl to my house, brother Gorham. 

Gorham. I will not fail. Oh, by the way brother Marwood, what 
is to be done with that new convert to the faith? That Yankee 
fellow — Barnabus Grump is his name I believe. 

Mar. Is he really converted, do you believe? 

Gorham. I have no doubt of it. He undoubtedly sees the advan- 
tage- of our system and wishes to participate in them. 

Mar. We must give him all the instructions possible — he may be 
of great use to us. 

Gorham. Here he comes. 

Enter Barnabas Grump, l. 
Grump f £pod mornin' brothers. I hev ben out a "viewin' the 



IS Z[ION. 

landscape o'er". Takin* a sort o' survey o* my future home ye know. 

Gorham. Well, what do you think of it? 

Grump. In my opinion it's a right good place tew live in. There 
seems tew be a sight o' harmony an' good feelin' among the Saints ; 
a sort o' heavenly calm so to speak. 

Mar. I see you are beginning to understand the beauties and 
sentiments of the true Faith. 

Grump. Yaas, I am discoverin' new beauties all the time. It's 
really affectin' tew witness the affection displayed in the families o' 
the Saints. As soon as I kin git a holt o' some land for a ranch, I'm 
goin' tew commence the marryin' business in airnest. Ye see the 
Good Book says it ain't good fur man tew be alone, an' as soon as I 
kin git in shape tew make it pay, I'm a-goin' tew take several wives 
more or less. 

Mar. That is right and proper brother Grump, you will soon be 
an honored member of our band of Saints. 

Grump. Yaas, I'm in hopes to inherit the joys of heaven, an' make 
it pay in this life tew. 

Mar. You are upon the right road, do not weary in well doing. 

Enter Mrs. Day, e. She is now insane. 

Mrs. Day. I think my little daughter will soon come. I should 
have brought her with me, but that man said no. And these are the 
joys of Zion ! If these are the joys, what are the sorrows ? Oh, the 
despair ! Oh, the heartache ! Oh, the horror piled on horror in this 
den of infamy ! My husband loved me, and my home was happy, 
but now — oh, now ! In the silent watches of the night, they come 
and whisper, whisper ! Aye, and hiss, and hiss ! And foremost in 
that hateful throng is one whose head is crowned with silver locks, 
and who with smiling lips repeats his lying cant and foul hypocrisy. 
He is the leader of this envenomed crew which talks of Saints, and 
paints in honied words their joys in Paradise. 'Twas he who lured 
me from my happy home, and made me what I am — a thing despised 
by God and man. {sees Marwood) Yes— yes— there it is, there is 
the shape— the fiend who lured me to destruction— and who nightly 
leads those grinning devils, who taunt me with my crimes. 

Mar. (advancing toward her) Why are you here, Mrs. Marwood? 
You should be at home attending to your duties. 

Mrs. Day. Back — back — do not come near me ! your touch — your 
presence is pollution. 

Mar. You must go back to the house, this is no place for you. 

Mrs. Day. No — no, I know it is no place for me. 1 am surround- 
ed with ghostly grinning forms ; I cannot escape them. I came here 
to find joy on earth and eternal life in heaven, and I found— oh, mer- 
ciful heaven, who are you? there is something familiar in your face. 
Ah, yes I know you now, you are my husband, come to see me ; my 
husband whom I love— let me clasp you in my arms and weep out 
my sorrow on your bosom. No — no — it is not he— it is— it is — back ! 
baek ! I say ! do not touch me, you are the serpent who beguiled me ; 
you coiled your slimy folds around my heart and foully betrayed me. 

Mar. Woman, you must go home. 

Mrs. Day. Home! home! I have no home — nothing but a prison 
where in daily toil my weary life drags on. I left my dome and 
came to — what? I dare not think. My quivering flesh has feit the 
scourging lash laid on by brutal hands— by you. My form has bent 



ZI02T. 19 

%nd throbbed with pain beneath its load of menial labor— laid on by 
you. I have at times felt reason's sway return as now I feel it. I have 
then fallen on my knees as I do now, {kneels) and asked Almighty 
God to sweep with fire and sword this moral plague spot. I ask him 
now to breathe destruction, pestilence and death upon this city in its 
sin ; to let the earth open and swallow up forever, the horrible in- 
iquities perpetrated in His name; to sweep this valley with a besom 
of wrath and purification. 

Gorham. ( advancing and lays hand upon her shoulder; she starts in 
great fear) See here woman ! you are making a scene for nothing. 

Mrs, Day. (starting to her feet in frenzy) Away ! Away ! Do 
not touch me ! 1 feel the frenzy upon me. Oh, horror ! they are 
coming back ! Back, ye fiends ! 

She exits l., shrieking back! back! Marwood and Gorham, rush off 

after her. 

Grump. Wall, neow, this kinder beats me. Ef this is the way the 
consarn pans eout, I'm agoin' tew ask tew be excused — I don't want 
any sich onpleasantness tew happen in my family, that's sartain. I'd 
better ^gin up the idea o' havin' mor'n one wife— it kinder pears tew 
me one on 'em is about all I kin manage tew onct. I reckon I'll 
meditate onto it some. (exit l. 



SCENE II. — A wood in fourth grooves. Camp fire burning, guns 
leaned against a tree. Discovered, Jabez Bligh om^Pete, seated 
r., and l., of fire. 

Pete. What yer s'pose Massa Day stay away so long fur? Think 
him got into trouble ? 

Bligh. I dunno, Pete, this ere country is full o' them cussed Mor- 
mons and Injuns, an' they'll like nothin' better nor skulpin' Day — 
or any on us for that matter. I reckon we're purty safe here how- 
somever. 

Pete. I spects we is kinder safe like ; but I tells yer what it am, 
Massa Bligh, dis yer nigger rudder be up in the mountings diggin' 
fur gold, dan down in dis heah valley watchiri' fur Mormons. 

Bligh. Wall, Pete, I reckon 'twould be safer ; but ye know we 
didn't come here tu dig gold. Our bizness is, fustly tu clean out old 
Marwood, an' then we kin du somethin' else. 

Pete. Dat's all right, Massa Bligh, but what de debil we tramp 
way off ter Californ' fur? Didn't spect ter find de old postle dar did 
yer? 

Bligh. No, Pete, but ye see we got out o' funds, an' we had tu git 
some chink, or gin up the hunt. We've got the <f ust now, an I reck- 
on we'll be lookin' devilish sharp arter oldfMarwood fur a while. I 
wouldn't take his chance, fur the hull Mormon outfit. 

Pete. S'pose Massa Day nebber git back ; what will we do den ? 

Bligh. Why, Pete, me an' you'ligo in an' clean out the old coyote 
alone. 

Pete. Wouldn't dat 'are be pesky onsartin fur us, Massa Bligh ? 

Bligh. Wall, yaas, Pete, I reckon 'twould be kinder seldom, but 
we've got tu do it an' no mistake. Don't ye remember what a big 
oath we tuck afore we left? I hope ye don't want tu back out do ye? 

Pete. No I guess not. But what good will all dis heah do tiis 
child, eh,? S'posin dis nigger lose his har what den ? S'posen dem 



$0 ZION. 

Mormons cum like dey did at de Medders, an* make us inter crow 
meat, in a minute— what good de oaf do den, eh? I don't like de 
Mormons a bit, but I tinks a heap ob myself, I do suah. Massa Day 
git pow'ful mad. Dat's all right, dey don't steal my wife, what fur 
I git mad? Massa Day, he don't want ter lib, dis child don't want 
ter die, dat's de difference. 

Bligh. Why, Pete, ye wouldn't desart me would ye? Didn't 1 
save yer skulp over in Californy ? An' didn't I divide whan grub 
was scarse ? I thought ye had more grit, Pete. 

Pete. What fur yer tink dis nigger ain't got no grit? Didn't I 
mash clat 'are Injun's head wid a big rock when he had yer down ? 
Didn't I carry Massa Day off fru de rocks wid dat 'are deblish meat 
ax a stickin' in him? Dis heah child ain't afearcl ob de hull pack ob 
Mormons— but what's de use? Dat's what I want to know. 

Bliah. I tell ye Pete, I've got a grudge agin 'em, an' when I'm a 
helpin' Day, I'm a payin' off some old scores fer myself. We've 
stuck together fer a good while, an' I want ye tu hang on a spell 
longer. Day'll be back afore mornin', an' then we'll move fer sar- 
tin. 

Pete. Hang on ? ob course I'll hang on ; dis child neber'll leab ye, 
while he's got a har left, ye may 'pend on dat— but I kinder thought 
>ve'd better gin up de job an' go home, dat's all. 

Bligh. (starting up) Give us yer hand Pete, yer hide's blacker'n 
tar, but yer white inside, an' ye've got as big a heart as any man 
what ever lived. (they shake hands. 

Pete. What's dat 'are crackin' in de brush out dar? Somethin' 
or somebodv's comin' suah. 

Bligh. {listening) Yer right, Pete, grab yer gun an' git fer tho 
brush ! {they sieze their guns and exit. 

Enter from l., cautiously JtUlia Edwards — Mrs. Marwood the 

seventh. 

Julia. This camp seems deserted ; I wonder where the people are? 
What a lonely place this is — my blood is chilled with fear. These 
dark somber trees, and forbidding rocks stand gaunt and grim, like 
giant spectres. If this is an enemies' camp, no power on earth can 
save me— no matter, I am prepared to die. My life for years has 
been a living death, blackened with infamy. The horror of that so 
called Zion can never be told ; I will perish in the forest, on the 
mountains, anywhere, rather than return to that physical and moial 
slavery. No tongue can tell the misery in that sinful city; it is the 
concentration of iniquity, an overflowing of licentiousness. The sum 
total of all things vile! Is it possible a righteous God, a just govern- 
ment will permit this outrage to exist? Will the massacre of those 
innocents at "Mountain Meadows" go unavenged? Would to heaven 
the fate of Sodom might overtake the city in sin ! 

Enter Day, r. 

Day. Amen ! 

Julia, (starts confused) May I inquire who you are, sir? 

Day. Madam, I am an avenger, I hate with fervent hatred the 
name of Mormon ! I have dedicated my life, my substance to an 
unceasing warfare with this pestilence. 

Julia. Thank God I have found one who will sympathize with, 
and befriend me! 



Z10X. $1 

Day. Allow me to inquire who you are, and why you are here? 

Julia. I am one who has felt the blistering contact of Mormonism. 
One who knows the whole structure to be a baseless fabrication. I 
am here, because I chose the peril of the fOrest, the danger of the 
mountains, rather than endure the vileness of Mormon captivity. 

Day. Where are you going ? What are your plans? 

Julia. Going? I know not, I have no plans; I only know I fled 
from the terror of the known, to face the unknown ; from the slavery 
and degredation of Mormonism: to escape or die— I care not which. 

Day. It is fortunate you found your way here. Myself and com- 
panions, will give you all the protection possible. 

Julia. Where are your companions? I have not seen them. 

Day. They are near I am sure, {whistles— it is answered by a 
whistle off among the rocks) They are close at hand. 

Enter after a pause, Bligh and Pete, l. 

Day. Were you out on a scout? 

Bligh. Yaas, kinder thought we'd look around some. 

Day. Did you discover anything suspicious? 

Bligh. Nothin' at all. The facto' the matter is, we heard this 'ere 
lady a comin' through the brush, an' so we jes picked up our shoot- 
in' irons, an' stepped behind the rocks fur a minnit tu see what was 
a comin'. 

Pete. I 'spects it would be a good thing fur dis child ter keep a 
look out fur a spell — what yer think, Massa Day? 

Day. I think it would be well to do so. 

Pete. I'll jes step out ob the way ob de fiah an' listen. {exit b. 

Bligh sits on a rock with gun leaning against his knee. 

Day. We must mature some plan of action. There is a strong de- 
tachment of government troops on their way here for the purpose of 
investigating Mormonism, and we must take advantage of their pres- 
ence to accomplish our work, (to Julia) You are lately from Salt 
Lake City, are you not? 

Julia. I left there yesterday morning. 

Day. Do- you know a man there by the name of Mar wood— Jeptha 
Mar wood? 

Julia. Know Jeptha Marwood? For ten years I have lived only 
to hate him; prayed only for revenge upon him. 

Day. You surprise me ! What wrong has Marwood done you ? 

Julia. The greatest of all wrong. He betrayed me, enticed me 
from my home, made me his drudge, his slave. 

Day. Tell me your story, I am anxious to hear it! 

Julia. About ten years ago, Marwood came to my home, a fair 
New England village, and commenced a T-eyival in the interest of 
this Mormon church. I was young and filled with that deep relig- 
eous enthusiasm, so common among the descendants of old Puritan 
stock. I therefore lent a willing ear to his subtle arguments. He 
seemed a pattern of honest manhood — in short I gave him my love. 
We were married and went to iralt Lake City — to me the promised 
land. Judge of my horror when I discovered how I had been be- 
trayed; being only Mrs. Marwood, the seventh. I could not escape, 
I was a prisoner— constantly watched. I heard the massacre of 
Mountain Meadows talked of and planned; I heard those fiends, 



boast of their deeds of blood ; I saw the little innocents, who were 
allowed to live parceled out among the vile crew. I know of four 
lisping tongues silenced forever by Mormon hands, because they re- 
membered too much of that fearful tragedy. I have seen maniacs 
wander about the streets, pitiful wrecks of glorious .womanhood; 
ruined by Mormon cruelty. Can you wonder"! hate with undying 
hatred, the whole institution ? 

Day. No, I do not wonder ; you have every reason to hate, and so 
have I. This same Jeptha Mar wood, entered my home, and pluck- 
ed from my fireside, my life, my love. Since that time I have had 
but one thought, and that is revenge. I have crossed blistering 
deserts, encountered danger in forests, and on plains, and all for the 
purpose of ridding the earth of this monster, and the long expected 
time is near at hand. 

Bligh. (rising) Amen! And I say now, as I've sed afore, I'll 
stick tu ye while I've got a speck o' life an' help ye cut that villian' s 
throat, whenever an' wherever we kin find him. 

Enter Pete, quickly and silently, r. 

Pete. Massa Day, dar am some one comin', suah! I don't know 
as dar's mor'n one, but dar's one I'se sartain. 

Day. (to Julia) Kemain here by the fire — we will step back 
among the trees, and await developments. Come, Bligh ! come 
Pete ! (exit l. 

Bligh. I hope tu goodness it's a Mormon, I'd like tu begin biz- 
ness, right off. (exit l. 

Pete. 'Spects*it am a Mormon. He'll git his old hide peppered 
mighty good. (exit l. 

Enter Oscar Durand, r. 

Durand. Here is a good fire and every indication of a camp. I 
wonder where the people are ? (sees Julia — aside) Hello ! here is 
a woman, (to Julia) Are you alone? 

Enter Day, Bligh and Pete, l., guns in hand ready for instant use. 

Day. No, she is not alone — are you ? 

Durand. Yes, I am alone, but not unarmed. 

(about to draw a weapon. 

Day. If you wish to commit suicide, young man, draw at once. 

Durand. Why, do you come towards me with guns leveled? Do 
you suppose I will stand quietly, and be shot like a dog ? 

Day. You invaded our camp, therefore we wish to know your 
business. Are you a Mormon ? 

Durand. No, thank heaven ! 

Day. Where are you from ? 

Durand. Remotely from the East, immediately from Salt Lake 
City. 

Day. Are you leaving there permanent!)' ? 

Durand. No, sir, I have business which calls me to the northern 
part of the territory, I shall return as soon as possible. 

Day. Do you intend to remain at Salt Lake after your return? 

Durand. See here, sir! I am not accustomed to this sort of cat- 
echising; and although you are three to one and well armed, I pos- 
itively refuse to be quizzed in this manner. 



2I0N. SB 

1 Day. Well, neighbor Bligh, what shall we do in this case? 
BUgh. He talks middlin' straight, 1 reckon we'll have tu let him 

go- 

Durand. Is your name Day ? 

Day. It is. 

Durand. Did you formerly live in Arkansas? 

Day. I did. 

Durand. And you had a daughter, Dora? 

Day. Yes, yes, but what is this to you ? What do you know of 
my daughter ? 

Durand. 1 know there is in Salt Lake City, a young lady named 
Dora Day, who is bound by a terrible oath to do an awful deed, and 
nothing but knowing the fact that her father lives, will prevent her 
taking a human life. If this lady is your daughter, it is your duty 
to go to her rescue, and save her from committing this crime. 

Day. (musingly) Can it be, that Dora has come to fulfil her oath ? 
If she is there I must hasten to apprise her of my presence, and fore- 
stall the possibility of her attempting Marwood's execution. Young 
man how did you learn so much of Miss Day's intentions? 

Durand. I love her, told her of my love, and begged of her to be- 
come my wife — she refused, and I insisted on knowing her reasons 
for refusing; then she reluctlantly confided to me the story of her 
oath, I therefore exacted a promise from her, not to move in 
the matter until I returned. 

Day. What did you intend to do when you return? 

Durand. I intended to kill Mar wood myself. 

Day. I am positive this young lady is my daughter. We will go 
to Salt Lake City at once. 

Julia. What am I to do? I dare not go back there. 

Day. We will find means to protect you, never fear, (to Durand) 
Will you go with us ? 

Durand. Yes, I will postpone my trip. 

Day. Come friends let us hasten to avenge our wrongs; and may 
the one who falters die. 

All. Vengeance! Vengeance! Amen! 

Pbte, r. Day, c. Bligh, l. Julia and Durand, r. and l. of c, 

each one with right hand and eyes upraised. 

QUICK CUBTAIN.—END OF ACT I. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A room in Marwood's house poorly furnished, with 
wooden chairs, plain stand and cot bed. Night, candle burning on 
stand — discovered Dora Day, seated on bed. 

Dora. I am surely a prisoner in that hypocritical villain's power. 
I am powerless ; completely at his mercy. He has no sentiment of 
pity ; he is implacable. I have no one to aid me, I am alone, (starts 
•up) I will not give way to fear or repining. The time is come for 
me to do and dare. All the tortures at his command cannot subdue 
me or make me falter. Jeptha Marwood shall learn he has roused a 
demon that will not down. Ah, some one is coming. 



n zioxr. 

Enter Lucy Stone, c, (Mrs. Marwood the eleventh) carrying a 
tray on which is a coarse supper; she places tray on stand, and 
turns to Dora. 

Lucy. There is your supper, I hope you will enjoy it. 

Dora. Can you tell me why I am made a prisoner? 

Lucy. I reckon you know as well as anybody. 

Dora. I assure you I do not. 

Lucy. So you don't know brother Marwood intends to marry you? 

Dora. I know he asked me to marry him, but I positively refused. 

Lucy. Well, that's why you are here. He proposes to marry yeu 
anyway. 

Dora. I would sooner die, than marry him. 

Lucy. You can say that all right now, but I reckon you'll sing 
another song before he is done with you. 

Dora. What do you mean ? 

Lucy. I mean he is determined to have you ; and have you he will 
in some way. The balance of us don't like it very well, but we've 
got used to it. I'm next to the last one, and I know I had a hard 
time for a while, but I get along better now — I reckon it won't make 
much difference, if he does get a lot more ; it will be a little bad for 
the new ones though. 

Dora. I do not understand you. Are you one of Marwood's 
wives ? 

lAicy. Yes, I suppose so — but I reckon it would be nearer right 
to say I'm one of his white niggers— that's about what we all are; 
and it's what you will come to -before long. 

Dora. Why, will you stay here and endure this slavery? Why, 
don't you run away from him? 

Lucy. That's a mighty sight easier said than done. Some of 'em 
have tried to get away but didn't make it out, and when they were 
brought back and put in this room once, they didn't want to try it 
again. If these walls could talk they could tell you things that 
would make your hair stand on end. There is one who was brought 
here about eight years ago, who tried to get away, and he put her in 
here and fed her on bread and water until she was almost starved, 
but she wouldn't give in, and when he let her out she tried it again; 
then he whipped her awfully, but that didn't do any good either — it 
was awful the way he whipped her every day for a month, but he 
couldn't conquer her, and so he turned her over to thatdevil Gorham, 
and when he brought her home she was raving crazy, and has been 
so ever since. It's all right for you to talk brave now, but just wait 
and you will change your mind. 

Dora. Perhaps I may, but I will endure any torture rather than 
act the farce of marriage and become his mistress. 

Lucy. Well, I must go. I am sorry for you, but I don't know 
how I can help you ; you see I've got to take care of myself — I don't 
want to get a whipping or do double duty in the kitchen, or the field; 
I have got into a bad scrape and I must make the best of it. Well. 
good-night, I will .see you in the morning. {exit c. 

Dora. How can I escape? That poor creature is trying to make 
the best of her sad lot; her spirit is crushed— she is an abject slave to 
a vile master. He owns her body and soul; her only thought is to 
escape his brutality. Her womanhood is gone ; her mind is benumb- 
ed, and the apathy of despair has seized upon her. And this poor 
maniac, what of her ? Her pride and honor could not be conquered 



ZION. S3 

her shattered mind is a glorious monument to her heroism. She was 
no doubt enticed from a happy home, to this whirlpool of sin. Her 
puny strength could not srem this torrent, she was engulfed in the 
mad murky flood. 

Enter Mrs. Day, c, cautiously. 

Mrs. Day. Ah, the tears, the toils, the agony Ihave endured here ! 
Oh, the utter blackness of the weary years ; at times a flash of reason's 
light illuminates the gloom, and I iive again in memory of the sad, 
sad past. My home, my husband and my daughter, come before me 
asl saw them last; and then these long, long years of woe and shame 
rise up before me and shut out the view of my lost heaven. Black, 
cheerless, starless night anon swoops down and in seeming pity ob- 
scures the light of reason. Would that self-consciousness might be 
forever lost ; that reason's flame might never burn within me, or J eath 
might come and set me free, (sees Dora — aside) Is this another 
victim of Mormon hypocrisy ! (to Dora) Who are you, and why 
are you here? 

Dora. I am a prisoner — who are you ? 

Mrs. Day. Who am I ? I am a wretched victim of lust and avarice, 
who has forfeited her peace on earth and hopes of heaven. 

Dora. Are you Mrs. Marwood ? 

Mrs. Day. I am forced to bear that hated name. 

Dora. Tell me your story, let us sympathize with each other. 
(aside) Oh, heaven ! I believe this is my long lost mother, reduced 
to this by Mormon cruelty. 

Mrs. Day. My story is brief. I left a happy home, to seek the 
joys of Zion. I was seduced from the path of honor by a smoothed- 
tongued villain, and awoke from my dream too late to retract. 

Dora. Was your name, Day ? Did you have a daughter, Dora ? 

Mrs. Day. Yes, yes! Oh, yes! Do you know aught of her, or 
my husband ? Speak, speak quickly, or the old horror will be upon 
me, before I can hear your story. 

Dora. Your daughter lives, and like you, is a prisoner. I am she 
whom you left eight years ago. Oh, mother, mother ! Do you not 
know me? 

Mrs. Day. Is it possible? Are you my darling whom I left in the 
once happy home? 

Dora. I am your daughter — oh, my poor, poor mother. 

Mrs. Day. ( looking intently at her) Yes, you are Dora, my own, 
my beautiful Dora, (fiercely) Grant me a boon, do as I ask you 'ere 
the madness comes. It is coming now, I feel its horrors creeping 
over me. Take this knife, (gives knife) plunge it into my bosom — 
(kneels)— let me die by your hand; let me feel in the death pang 
dealt by you, the first and only joy for eight long years. Set free 
my fainting soul, be my Saviour. Here — here — plunge it here. 

'Dora. Oh, mother, mother! I cannot do this deed. Calm your- 
self, I will free you from this slavery. 

Mrs. Day. (starting up) There is no escape but death, let me die 
by your hand. You will not? Then I must be my own executioner. 
Let me clasp you to my bosom — once, only once, and then, farewell. 

Mrs. Day clasps Dora in her arms then steps back and wrests the 
knife from Dora, raises it as if to plunge it in her own bosom—' 
Dora, seises her arm and prevents her. 



Enter Marwood and Grump, c. 

Mar. What does this mean? Where did you get that knife ? (he 
,kes the knife from her) 
Mrs. Day. Back, yoi 



takes the knife from her) Goto your room, you hav« no business here. 
>u fiend! do not touch me. Back, back ! I say ! 



(exit wildly, C. 

Mar. That woman is giving me trouble lately. I must keep her 
in close confinement or she will do serious damage. 

Grump. She seems ter be kinder onsettled like— I reckon she'll 
stand a heap o' watchin'. 

Mar. I have hesitated about placing her in a public Asylum, it 
seems sueh a heartless proceeding. 

Grump. Yaas, that's so. I alius knowed you had a big stock o* 
fine feelin's. 

Mar. Miss Day, I am very much pained that this episode should 
have occured — I trust it will not prejudice you against us. 

Dora. It has not changed my feelings in the least. 

Mar. That is very sensible of you. You will understand these 
unfortunate incidents occur outside of Zion, so this case cannot be 
considered of any special significance. 

Grump. That's so. I have knowed o' several if not more occurm* 
down in Maine — it's dreadful onpleasant, but it can't be helped. 

Mar. I hope you will not lay too much stress upon this affair. It 
is, indeed, unfortunate, and I deplore it greatly. My great love for 
her, induces me to keep, and watch over her; I cannot endure the 
thought of placing her in the care of strangers. 

Grump. I know brother Marwood has got an awful tender heart — 
he can't bear tu see sufferin' o' any kind. He takes better care o' his 
household than most o' the Gentile folks du — that's as true aspreachin'. 

Mar. Brother Grump has investigated our system thoroughly, 
and has been converted to our faith. He was very much opposed to 
us when he came here, but he now sees the beauty, and harmony of 
our lives and earnestly desires the felicity of full communion with 
us. 

Grump. Yaas, that's it tu a T. I'm mor'n willin' tu cast my lot 
among the Saints. I've looked the matter over, an' I've read the 
Holy word, an' in my opinion, the only chance fer Salvation is right 
in this 'ere church, (aside) An' it's a darned good speculation tu. 

Dora. You are wasting time if you expect to convert me. 

Mar. Do not be hasty in your decision, Miss Day, think this 
matter over, carefully. 

Grump. Yaas, take plenty o' time an' read the Word, an' I'm 
purty sartin' you'll change your mind. It's a dreadful good thing 
tu take plenty o' time,, (aside) An' plenty o 5 wives when you've 
got a ranch. 

Dora. Have you forgotten the teachings of your New England 
home ? 

Grump. Not at all, but ye see they didn't have the true faith. 
When I come out here I didn't believe a word on't ; but arter a while 
I got convinced that this 'ere is the jenewine thing, an' so I made a 
proposition tu jine tu onct — an' the Saints are goin' tu take me in, 
an' I'm a goin' to be heir o' eternal joy. (aside) An' improve my 
financial condition into the bargain. 

Dora. Your arguments are fallacious. You are both talking from 
vile and selfish motives. You cannot disguise the selfishness, which 



2107*. 27 

prompts you to defend this institution ; I have seen too much to be 
beguiled by your studied cant, and transparent hypocrisy. 

Mar. You seem determined to force me to extreme measures. I 
wish to convince you with the mild persuasion of love. 

Dora. Love ? You do not know the meaning of love. Your sor- 
did nature cannot appreciate a pure thought. 

Mar. Miss Day, you seem resolved to goad me to desperation. I 
advise you to be careful — perhaps you do not realize how completely 
you are in my power? 

Dora. I fully understand my situation. I know you have the 
power and disposition to rack me with torture. I know unless I 
succumb to your base propositions, a horrible death awaits me — yet, 
knowing all this, I defy you, and dare you to do your worst. 

Mar. Miss Day, I am determined to possess you; there is no ne- 
cessity for further concealment. You are in my power, absolutely 
in my power. I will conquer your haughty pride, and bend you to 
my will, or kill you — do you understand? 

Dora. I do, sir. I know your power here is unlimited; I know 
the poor maniac who but now left us, is the work of your hands ; I 
know you enticed her from a happy home ; I know you lashed her 
quivering flesh ; I hnow you attempted to starve her into submission, 
but you could not break her resolution. I know — mark me well 
Jeptha Mar wood — I know this victim of your lust and greed, of 
3>mir Mormon religeon, is my mother. And now I say to you, do 
what you please— starve, lash, burn if you will, I will never, never 
be your so-called wife. 

Mar. I will give you a little more time to meditate; and I hope 
you will change your mine. If not, I will make you beg for death, 
that will not come. I will make your life such a burden, that any 
change will be welcome. 

Grump. (aside) This is a queer sort o' courtship — not very lovin', 
but mighty excitin'. 

Dora. I do not wish any more time. My determination is fixed, 
unalterable. 

Mar. Do not be hasty. Think it over. 

Enter Lucy, c, excited. 

Lucy. Brother Marwood, Julia has run away sure, she was seen 
going North, out of the city, and I reckon she's gone for good. 

Grump. (aside) The hull thi ng seems kinder onsartin' ; guess 
I'll think it over a spell. 

Mar. Weil, Lucy, we will look for her at once— I cannot afford 
to let her escape. 

Lucy. Sister Emma is taking on awful, so I locked her door. 

Mar. That is right Lucy, you are very thoughtful, (to Dora) 
Well, Miss, I will leave you to think over your situation. Remem- 
ber, escape is impossible ; so show your good sense by making the best 
ofit. 

Bora. You need not delay. Commence your torture at once. 

Mar. Lucy, do not bring this lady any food to-morrow ; hungei 
may teach her to reason differently. Come Lucy, come Giump, we 
will look after the runaway. 

Grump, (aside) It's tarnation rough on the gal ; if I knew how, 
I'd help her— I would by gosh ! 

Exit Marwood, Lucy and Grump, c. 



28 ZION. 

Bora. Mv fate is fixed, there is no escape. I must suffer and 
make no sign. I will not repine or indulge in useless regrets. The 
fiend shall not see me falter ; I am prepared to die, and die bravely. 
Heaven help me in my time of need ! 

Seats herself wearily on the edge of the bed: drops her face in her hands 
in an attitude of despair. 

SLOW CUBTAIN—END OF ACT II. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— A street in Salt Lake City, 

Enter Jeptha Marwood and Obidiah Gorham. 

Gorham. Well, brother Marwood, how are you succeeding with 
Miss Day 9 

Mar. My success is not nattering ; she shows no signs of weaken- 
in *. 

Gorham. If you place her in my care, I can promise one of three 
results, complete conversion, insanity or death. I shall not stop with 
namby-pamby measures, you may be sure. 

Mar. I believe you delight in human suffering — in taking human 
life. 

Gorham. I do brother Marwood, it is my business and I enjoy it. 

Mar. Well, when I find I can do nothing with her, you shall take 
♦.he care. But what about these government troops? Are they 
coming here do you suppose? 

Gorham. I don't know, if I had had my way, they would never r 
have reached here, I would have taken a party and went out to the* 
Mountains, and prepared the pass for their reception. We could 
iiave made as clean a sweep as we did at Mountain Meadows. And 
it would have been a good hint to the infernal government, to let ust 
alone. I believe in setting up an Independent Empire, and defend- 
ing it; we ought to do it, and cut every Gentile's throat, who comes 
nosing around here. There are three of them here now, who walk 
about tbe streets with revolvers and knives strapped upon them. I 
I asked JBrigham, for leave to dispose of the gang, but he refused on 
account of those cursed soldiers being so near. 

Mar. Sec here Gotham, it won't do to have that girl seen, or the 
crazy one either. If we find the soldiers are coming here, I will send 
them to your suburban retreat, at once. 

Gorham. All right, send them along— they will be safe enough 
with me. 

Mar. And if the troops do come, and you think there is danger of 
detection, I want you to dispose of them at once. 

Gorham. Now that suits me, I would like to make a finish of that 
crazy one any way. 

Mar. I wish you had had your way about these troops; it seems 
to me, very foolish to allow them to get so near. 

Gorham. That is what I think. I have a mind to clean them out 
Prophet or no Prophet. Brigham was not afraid to kill a lot of em- 



ZIOIT. 29 

igrants at the Meadows, but he don't like to face government bayo- 
nets. I tell you, thej r never ought to be allowed to move another 
step in this direction. 

Mar. That is true, it will open the way for a horde of Gentiles to 
come here. A war between the North and South, is the only thing 
that will save us. We must encourage a war as much as possible, 
and defend our. borders to the death. We must stir up the Kedskins, 
and get them on the war path ; that will take the attention of the 
government, until the big war conies on. If all this does not stop 
Gentile interferance, our rifles will. Hello! Here comes the Yankee, 
we will know more about it now. 

Enter Barnabas Grump, r. 

Grump. Good-mornin', gents. 

Mar. Good-morning, brother Grump. 

Gorham. What did you find, brother Grump? Give us the par- 
ticulars — we are mighty anxious to know. 

Grump. Waal, ye see, I went over tu the camp, an' hung around 
there a spell an' axed a heap o' questions; but I didn't find out much 
o' anything till last night, and then I heard that them fellers are 
mighty likely tu drop down here kinder onexpected like, a'most 
any time. As nigh as I kin make out, Uncle Sam, he's sent 'em here 
tu see what sort o' a place this is, an' what we're a doin' — an' I reck- 
on they'll be purty apt tu nose about some. 

• Mar. That is about what I have expected. How many are there, 
do you suppose? 

Grump. I reckon there's a thousand on 'em anyway. I tell ye 
what they're mighty thick about thai*. 

Gorham. A thousand? It would worry us some to get away with 
that many, unless we could surprise 'em. Are they rather careful? 

Grump. You kin jest bet they are. The3 r 've got double guards, 
an' a feller's got tu toe mighty straight, or he'll git filled full o' lead 
quicker' n chain lightnin'. 

Mar. I must remove those females for a time. I wish you would 
come and get them to-day. 

Gorham. All right — I will get brother Grump to help me. 

Mar. I must attend the Council to-day, I shall insist on exter- 
minating the troops, if we have sufficient strength to do it. 

Gorham. Y r ou express my sentiments exactly ; and I believe the 
Bretheren nearly all, concur in that belief. 

Mar. I will urge the matter to the best of my ability. (exit l. 

Gorham. If the Council does not decide on a fight, I will organize 
a band of true believers ; disguise them as Indians ; and pick the 
soldiers off", one by one. They will learn to respect our "Destroy- 
ing Angels," if they do not respect our holy religion. 

Grump. Won't that be a leetle resky? Suppose they happen tu 
ketch some on ye, an' find out yer white men? 

Gorham. They won't catch us, you may be sure of that. 

Grump. It seems this 'ere thing is a drawin' tu a peak. I'm kind- 
er o' the opinion the folks in the "States", are a gittin' riled up, 
more or less, an' are a goin' tu make it warm fer the Saints. 

Gorham. Are you getting weak kneed? 

Grump. Wall, no, I can't say as I am, [ was thinkin' that mebbe 
it would be as well tu hold oft' awhile, afore 1 begin marryin', an* 
wait fur the dust tu settle a bit. 



SO ZION. 

Gorham. Of course you can do as you please about that; however 
I would advise you to go ahead. This affair is only a spasm of the 
government, and will soon be over. 

Grump. Yaas, I reckon it's nothin' only a spasm, but ye know it 
might work round, an' be a regular fit at'ore it's done. 

Gorham. Do as you like— I* suppose you will help me move those 
women of Marwood's? 

Grump. Why, yes, I reckon I will, I don't like the job fust rate, 
but I guess I'd better du it so's I'll kinder git used tu the bizness 
you know. 

Gorham. Very well ; we will go and git this job off our hands. 

{exit Gorham and Grump, r. 



SCENE II.— A portion of a public park in Salt Lake City. Night, 
moon-light. 

Enter Day and Bligh, l. 

Day. What do you suppose has directed suspicion toward us? II 
fear Pete has said something he should not have said. 

Bligh. I don't believe Pete has said anything; you kin trust that 
nigger as far as any white man. 

Day. Perhaps they were trying to pump him. 

Bligh. That's about it— an' I'll bet a coon skin, they didn't find 
out enough to hurt 'em either. 

Day. It makes but little difference anyway, we must do our work,, 
and begone. The first opportunity you have, you had better fix thati 
Destroying Angel, Gorham. 

Bligh. I'll du it, an' du it well. P 11 try an' revenge them babies 
an' wimmin, as was killed at "Mountain Meadows". Their bones; 
are a bleachin' yet in the storm an' sunshine, an' are a eryin' fur 
vengeance, tu every one what hates these cursed Mormons, i tell ye 
it's a burnin' shame that this government will 'low this thing tu go* 
on. 

Day. So it is. These Mormons openly defy the government ; andi 
our alleged statesmen take their snubs and insults, and never wince. 

Bligh. Ain't it a gittin' about time fur Pete tu come ? I'm dread- 
ful anxious. 

Day. Curb your impatience, he will soon be here. Hark! some 
one is approaching now ; I think it must be Pete, we will soon know 
what to do. 

Enter Oscar Durand, l. 

Day. I thought you were Pete, we are very anxious for his report. 
Have you learned anything new ? 

Durand. I have learned the troops are very angry because they 
are not permitted to investigate Mormonism with fixed bayonets. 
Julia has told her sad story with good effect, and the boys are im- 
patient to avenge her wrongs. 

Day. They would make short work of it, if they had the opportu- 
nity. 

Bligh. I wish I could lead 'em fer five or six hours. 

Durand. Julia is coming to the city to-morrow, and if she is mo- 
lested, the soldiers will wreak dire vengeance upon the Saints. 



ZION. SI 

Bligh. What du you s'pose they'd du? 

Durand. They would burn the city, and scatter the Saints to the 
four winds. 

Bligh. I don't wane 'em to hurt her very much, but I hope they'll 
kinder gether her inter the fold not very gentle like — jest use her 
rough enough to rile the boys, that all. Hello ! here comes Pete , 
an' he's got some feller with him. 

Enter Pete and Grump, l. 

Day. We were beginning to think something had happened to 
you, Pete. 

Pete. Foh de Lawd, Massa Day, dis yer child had a debbil ob a 
time. Catched dat 'are old 'postle right in someob his debblish mean- 
ness — and dis yer gemmen was a helpin' him do it to. 

Day. (to Grump) Are you a Mormon? 

Grump. Wall, I kinder leaned that way fer a spell, but I reckon I 
ain' t leanin' quite so much now. 

Bligh steps behind Grump and draws a large knife. Day makes ges- 
tures to him to stop. 

Day. Why did you bring this man with you, Pete? 

Pete. Golly, Massa, I didn't fotch him, he done come jest 'case he 
wanted to. 

Day. (to Grump) Well, sir, what can we do for you ? 

Grump. I can't say as you kin du anything pertieular fer me. I 
jist wanted to see ye, is all. , 

Day. Do you think we are planning an insurrection ? 

Grump. I don't know nothin' about what yer a planning an* I 
don't care a darn. All I know is yer Gentiles, an' I kinder thought 
I could tell ye a few things that would be good fer ye tu know. I 
don't want tu push myself intu nobody's company ef I haint want- 
ed, so I reckon I'll be a jo*rgin' along. (going. 

Day. Stop a moment. You say you have something to tell us 
that we ought to know ? 

Grump. Yaas, I reckon yer about kerect. 

Day. And yet you are a Mormon ? 

Grump. Who says I'm a Mormon? 

Day. You said so yourself. 

Grump. Not by a jug-full. I said I kinder leaned that way fer a 
spell, but I said tew, that I didn't slant that way quite so much now. 

Day. But you were in Mormon company and doing Mormon 
work ? 

Grump. True, I was ketched in bad company, an' I helped them 
devils du seme cussed mean work — but I want ye tu know I've re- 
formed slick an' clean. 

Day. What is your name? 

Grump. Grump — Barnabas Grump — at your sarvice. 

Day. Well, Mr. Grump, we will hear what you have to say. 

Grump. I reckon you hate Mormons, wors'n pussley don't ye? 

Bligh. ( aside to Day) Tell him yes, an' ask him what he's goin' 
tu du about it. 

Day. (aside to Bligh) Do not get impatient, neighbor Bligh. 

Bligh. (aside to Day) I tell ye Mr. Day, I'm a gettin' tired o> 
this dallyin', an' I'm goin' tu commence business pretty soon, an' 
commence it in airnest. Ef he ain't a Mormon he'd better say so 



S2 &ION: 

without much more palaver. I won't answer for myself much longer. 

Pete, (aside to Bligh) Massa Bligh, this yer gemmen ain't no 
Mormon. 

Day. (aside) I trust you are right, Pete, if he is not, he ought to 
say so. 

Pete, (aside) Dat's so, Massa Day. (to Grump) See heah, ye'd 
better speak kinder quick and plain. 

Grump. Holy smoke ! Hain't I said I want no Mormon? Ef you 
don't believe me when I say a thing, ye may go tu the devil, or any 
where else ye want tu. 

Bligh. Now yer talkin' as though ye meant it, an' it's about time 
tew. 

Grump. See here, ef yer a tryin' to skeer me you've made an 
all tired mistake. I am as independent as a cork screw, [f you want 
tu hear what I've got tusay, you'd better git at it more peaceable like. 

Day. You know we find it necessary to be cautious here, I hope 
you will not hesitate to tell us what you know. 

Grump. Waal, I'll tell you about it. Ye see I've been here a good 
spell, an' I begun tu think that Mormonism was a mighty good 
thing; an' so I told 'em I wanted tu jine the church — arter that they 
let me intu some o' their secrets. 1 found out that this 'ere Gorhani 
is about the biggest villain, an' cutthroat in the univarse; and that 
old Mar wood ain't a bit better; and I finally made up my mind, that 
the whole lot needs killin' pretty considerable bad. 

Day. Well, what about Gorham and Marvvood? 

Grump. I found out, that Marwood has got about a dozen wives, 
an' one on 'em is crazy as a bed bug; an' that his an' Gorham's dev- 
ilish abuse made her crazy ; an' that he's a tryin' to get another one, 
an' that they're bound to make this gal marry Marwood, or kill her. 
{She's a gittin' mighty near starved to death now, and them there in- 
fernal devils keep a starvin' an' a whippin' her, an' a swearin' if she 
don't consent they will starve an' whip her tu death. But I reckon 
she'll go crazy, like the other one did; she'll never give in, I'll bet 
on that. 

Day. Is this young lady a Mormon? 

Grump. No, she ain't no Mormon. She's a name sake o' yourn, 
her name is Day. 

Durand.) D . 

Day. ) J ' 

Grump. Yes, Day, an' the crazy one is her mother. 

Day. My God! her mother? 

Grump. Yaas, but what's the matter? 

Day. They are my wife, and daughter. 

Grump. Yer wife an' darter? 

Day. Insane — starving — whipped — and I inactive? Where are 
they? 

Grump. They are at Gorham's house, just outside o' town, they 
was tuck there this mornin'. 

Day. Do you suppose we would find those villains there to-night? 

Grump. No, ye wouldn't, but I reckon we kin fix it so we kin 
ketch 'em to-morrow sometime. 

Day. We will take you into our confidence, Mr. Grump, and if 
you play us false, you sign your death warrant. We are desperate 
men, and we have sworn to kill Jeptha Marwood, and we will do it. 

Grump. I'll see they are at Gorham's house to-morrow, an' I'll 
let you know when. 



ZIOW. €S 

Durand. Is there any unusual danger for them to-night? 

Ci rump. No, I reckon not. 

Day. Friends and companions, the time is at hand when our debt 
of vengeance will be paid. Are you ready to go ? 

All. We are. 

Day. I feel the thrills of coming triumph — destruction swift and 
sure shall overtake Jeptha Marwood. My work is nearly done. Re- 
venge ! Revenge ! 

Disposition of characters for tableau. 

Bligh. Day. DURAND. 

Grump. Pete. 

QUICK CUBTAIN.—END OF ACT III. 



ACTIV 

SCENE I. — A room in Gorham's house. Discovert..* Dora. Day, look- 
ing pale and careworn, seated by table l. 

Dora. Oh, these weary weeks of agony ! The pangs of starvation 
— the lash and the prison in this our boasted nineteenth century. The 
tortures of the inquisition beneath a flag of freedom and equal rights. 
Here am I, a victim of the basest human passions, helpless and alone, 
with no friend to succor me in my distress, (starts up) If Sodom 
of old perished for its sins, why should this place escape? On every 
side, the cries and supplications of the wronged, the helpless, the in- 
nocent ascend to heaven, begging, pleading for mercy and deliver- 
ance. But to no purpose — the eddying whirlpool sucks them in, 
their cries a iid supplications fall unheeded. They are swallowed up 
and lost for' ver, or left pitiable wrecks upon the barren shore. I feel 
I am givingeway beneath this strain; I will soon be a wreck, but the 
wreck will do me honor; no taint or shadow of sin will be upon me. 
Ah, some one is coming, I pray it may be my executioner. 

Enter Barnaras Grump, c. 

Grump. Good-mornin' Miss Day, how du ye feel this mornin' ? 

Dora. How do I feel ? What mockery to ask ! 

Grump. Miss Day, I've come tu tell ye some news. This is yer 
last day in prison. 

Dora. Thank heaven! Oh, thank heaven! But stay, does this 
release compromise my honor? 

Grump. Not a bit on it. 

Dora. Can this be true? Oh, can this be true? 

Grump. Ye just bet it's true. I wish I could bring ye somethin' 
to eat. 

Dora. I do not care for anything to eat. I can live on the hope 
of gaining my freedom. 

Grump. I reckon hope is a dreadful thin diet. In my opinion, 
ye won't get very fat on that kind o' feed an' nuthin' else. 

Dora. I do not feel the craving of hunger now— I am strong and 
well. 



U ZI02T, 

Grump. That's good. An' I reckon ye'll need a right good lot o 1 
strength, fer that old cuss Mar wood, will call on ye soon. 

Dora. Must I face that old villain again ? Why not let me go 
before he comes ? 

Grump. It's a part o' the plan tu let him come. Don't get skeer- 
ed, he won't harm ye. 

Dora. I must believe what you say ; it is my only hope. Do not 
deceive me — oh, I beg of you, do not deceive me. 

Grump. I'm not deceivin' ye. What I've told ye, is true as gospel. 

Dora. I will be brave, I will not falter. I have endured much, J 
can endure more. 

Grump. I know ye've got a heap o' grit, ef ye hadn't, ye'd gi'n 
in long ago. Waal, I must be a goin'. Good-day, don't worry. 

(exit l. 

Dora. Hope has revived ! I believe that man told me the truth— 
if he did not — oh, heaven! I dare not think of my misery ! I cannot 
endure this much longer — I am breaking, breaking! (sinks on a 
chair by table and buries face in her hands. 



Durand. (aside) She seems to be asleep— how thin and pale she 
is. The horrible cruelty she has undergone, would kill one less de- 
termined, (aloud) Dora, Dora my love! Look up and speak to me! 

Dora, (starting up) Oh, Oscar, Oscar! is it indeed you? 

Durand. Yes, it is I, and no other. How pale and thin you are. 
Come to me darling! (embrace) Oh, my love, how you have suf- 
fered ! 

Dora. Yes, I have suffered; but the joy of this moment repays 
me for all. 

Durand. This is, indeed, a joyous moment, only marred by what 
you have endured. 

Dora. It is past, and when I am free, will soon be forgotten, or 
only remembered as the phantasm of a dream. 

Durand. Dearest, 1 have come to claim you for my own. 

Dora. Kemember my oath, I cannot evade its dreadful req^iire- 
ments. 

Durand. Your oath is not in force, and never has been. Your 
father is alive and well. 

Dora. Alive? Is it true? Is he, indeed, alive? 

Durand. He is, and seeking his revenge. 

Dora. Where is he? Oh, where is he? 

Durand. Near at hand, and will be here soon to protect you. 

Dora. Then Oscar, I am yours— take me if you wish. 

Durand. (clasping her in his arms) You are mine, all mine. I 
could not wait longer to see you; I knew in the hurry of our flight, 
I could not seek and gain the sweet promise you have given me. 

Dora. You will not fail to come ? 

Durand. Never fear, I will be here. 

Dora. And will father surely be with you ? 

Durand. Yes, dear, your father, Mr. Blign and Pete. Good-bye. 

( ' >S*es her and exits c. 
Dora. Oh. joy! joy! My deliverance is nt hand! The only cloud 
to mar the sunshine, is poor crazy mother. However wrong her 
conduct, 1 love her still— she is my mother. 



Enter Mrs. Day, c« 

Mrs. Day. Why, have they changed our prison? Oh, yes, Ire- 
member now ; they told me we should go back to the dear old home 
— my little girl and I. How happy we shall be ! I will then see my 
husband! My husband? No, no — I have no husband — no home! 
He said I would be happy — happy? Why, should I speak of happi- 
ness? It is not for me. The villain came with honeyed lies in his 
mouth, and deceived me. I trusted him, I believed him, and now 
what am I? (sees Dora) Who are you? Oh, I know you now; 
you are the harpies, who visit me at night, and grin, and shriek at 
me. Away ! Away ! Do not come near me! 

Dora. Don't you know me, mother? 

Mrs. Day. Know you? No, I know no one. They say I am mad, 
but that is false; I am not mad — no I am not mad. I see those hor- 
rid shapes, and grinning faces — but they tell me it is only fancy. 
They come to me by night and by day, and mock and scoff; and one 
among them, with silvery hair, and smiling lips — scourges my quiv- 
erlng flesh, until I shriek with agony. 

Dora. Oh, heaven! Is this my mother? Mother, mother ! I am 
your daughter. 

Mrs. Day. Away you lying fiend ! Why do you mock me? 

Dora. You knew me yesterday; don't you remember? 

Mrs. Day. Remember? Yes, I remember the lowly ho me-like 
cottage, covered with clinging vines, and filled with Jove and peace. 
I remember — oh, how well I remember my loving daughter; my 
noble husband, I remember — and the remembrance sears my brain, 
how that smooth-tongued devil beguiled me. I remember how he 
starved me — I remember — Back! back! Do not come near me! See 
that horrid throng come on— they are skeletons, fteshless skeletons; 
victims of Mormon cruelty. Hark ! Hark ! what do thej'- say? That 
shadow holding to her bosom a fair-haired babe, with streaming eyes 
and breaking heart, begged for mercy at Mountain Meadows. The 
one beside her with raven locks and queenly carriage, was decoyed 
from her English home, to grace the Prophet's harem, and died 
broken-hearted. The whole ghostly train are shrieking out their 
wrong and crying loud for vengeance. Away! Away! 1 cannot 
bear it! (exit quickly repeating, away! away! 

D»r<i. Oh, mv poor mother! Xo one can tell what she has suffer- 
ed, (kneels) Oh, Father in Heaven, grant that this may soon end. 



SCENE II.— Street in first grooves. 

Enter Jeptha Marwood, r. 

Mar. One more effort, and then brother Gorham may take the 
obstinate girl in charge. My patience is exhausted ! It is unfortu- 
nate that she recognized her mother — yet the fact that she i>- a raving 
maniac, may have some effect on her, and induce her to yield. I will 
at once find Gorham, and he shall go with me — he has a way to tame 
these obdurate women which never fails. " {exit l. 



JSCENE Ilt^TU same as scene first~Night. 

Enter Dora, c. 

Dora. Night has come, and I am nearly wild with apprehension. 
I fear I am doomed to disappointment ; if they do not come, I am lost 
*— nothing can save me. My poor mother's hallucination, almost un- 
nerves me. 

Enter Jeptha Marwood, c. 

Mar. Good- evening, Miss Day, how are you feeling by this time ? 

Dora. Look at me and your question is answered. 

Mar. You are rather thin and pale. 

Dora. You have come then to taunt me with your triumph? to 
gloat over the defeat of a weak, helpless woman ? 

Mar. It seems your enforced fasting, and the vigorous discipline 
you have undergone, have not dulled the sharp edge of your tongue. 

Dora. And never will. 

Mar. Do not natter yourself that this is all. What you have 
suffered, will be considered pleasure, when compared with what you 
will endure, if you still remain obdurate. 

Dora. And this is your boasted religion ;|your reputed saintliness? 
You starve and scourge women, because they are helpless, and in 
your power. You a pillar in the so-called church, descend to prac- 
tices, a saVage would blush to own. 

Mar, Have a care my lady, or you will learn to your sorrow what 
I can do. 

Dora. I know } r ou would not hesitate to do anything you could 
with safety to yourself. Yet there is one tiling you can never do. 

Mar. What is that pray ? 

Dora. Conquer my pride and honor. 

Mar. I tell you Dora Day, if you do not consent to be my wife, 
I will rack you with tortures, such as you never dreamed of. You 
shall beg and plead for death that will not come. The man in whose 
house you now are, has no spark of pity or compassion. Once in his 
care, your doom is sealed. There is no escape but in marriage with 
me, insanity or death. Your mother played the fool, as you are do- 
ing ; you have seen the result — be warned in time. 

Dora. Your threats do not intimidate me. You and your bloody 
satellite may do your worst — you cannot conquer me. 

Mar. We shall see. You will soon shriek with agony. 

Dora. I may cry with agony, but never for mercy. 

Mar. I will give you one more opportunity before I call Gorham. 
Will you consent? 

Dora. Jeptha Marwood, I answer you once for all, — never ! Call 
your inquisitors, commence your torture — I am ready to meet it. 

Mar. Poor fool ! you little know what you are bringing upon 
yourself. 

Dora. I can judge of that to come, by what I have already ex- 
perienced. 

Mar. I dislike very much to resort to these extreme measures; I 
wish you would listen to reason. 

Dora. My decision is fixed ; none of your sophisms can change it. 

Man As you will. {calls. 



ZIQNl 37 

Enter, Obadiah Gorham, c. 

Mar. Brother Gorham, this young lady is still ob J urate, I there- 
fore consign her to your care. 

Gorham. I have a way of bringing them to reason that never fails. 

Mar. I do not want any dilly-dallying about it, brother Gorham. 

Gorham. 1 understand, (starts toward Dora) Come along, Miss ! 
You will now have something to keep you from being lonely. 

Dora. Do not touch me ! 1 warn you, do not touch me ! 

Gorham. Ha! ha! I shall stop a long time for this Hurry. 

(seizes her arm. 

Dora, {struggling to free herself ) Help! Help! Unhand me! let 
me go! 

Gorham. Give me a little assistance, brother Mai' wood. Put your 
hand over her mouth and shut up that noise. 

They struggle with her; Marwood attempts to stifle her cries. She frees 
her head and shouts, Help! Help! 

Enter at C, Mrs. Day. she rushes downstage, siezes Gorham by the 
collar, and jerks him down. He raises to his knees, she draws a 
pair of shears from her dress, and is about to plunge them into Gor- 
ham's breast, when Marwood releases Dora, and seizes her. 

Mrs. Day. (wrenching herself loose from Marwood) Back! back 
I say ! I will avenge my wrongs, and the wrongs of this poor girl. 

Mar, Go away from here at once ! 

Mrs. Day. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Go away from here ? 

Gorham. (to Marwood) You watch this one ; I will take care of 
the crazy one. 

Mrs. Day. You will take care of the crazy one? Ha! ha! ha! 
Come -and take care of me. 

Gorham. Seize her brother Marwood, and choke the life out of 
her ! I will do the same for this one. 

Gorham and Marwood stan-ts toward Dora and Mrs. Day. 

Enter from a,' Day, Bligh, Durand, Pete and Grump. 

Day. (rushes to Marwood and siezes him) Jeptha Marwood, do 
you know me? 
Mar. My God ! It is James Day ! 

Durand goes to Dora ; Bligh watches Gorham. Pete and Grump 
stand at back watching the parties. 

Day. Yes, Jeptha Marwood, it is James Day — come to avenge 
the wrongs you have done him. What have you to say ? 

Mar. Nothing, only to admit and deplore the wrong, and beg of 
you to be merciful. 

Day. Beg me to be merciful ! Have you been merciful to me ? 
Have you been merciful to this poor insane wreck ? Have you been 
merciful to my daughter ? 



88 .ZI02T. 

Mar. I have only been trying to live according to the faith of our 
holy religion. 

Day. Your holy religion ! Did it teach you to destroy my home, 
to drive your victim to insanity, and persecute my daughter almost 
unto death ? 

Bligh. Cut the old villain's throat; don't parley with him. 

Mar. Mercy ! Mercy ! 

Gorham draws a knife. Bligh draws and levels pistol at him. 

Bligh. Your time has come, (shoots Gokham, who drops knife, 
falls and dies. 

Mar. Mercy! Mercy! Oh, he merciful! 

Day. Look at your victims and ask for mercy, if you dare. Down ! 
pown on your knees, you abject coward ! 

Mar wood kneels: Mrs. Day picks up knife dropped by Gorham — 
steps quickly behind Marwood and stabs him. Marwood falls 
and dies. Mrs. Day falls on her knees i)i front of Day, and 
raises her clasped hands to him. Durand on R., sup -a "/ Dora. 
Bligh l., by Day, bending forward and looking at Gorham. 
Grump and Pete, c, back. 



PICTUBE.—SLOW OUBTAIN 



THE END. 



C_^9 G)^> 



STAGE DIBECTIONS. 

»., means Right; l., Left; b. h., Right Hand, l. h.. Left Hani; c Centra; s. e. 
[2dK.,] Second Entrance; u. e., Upper Entrance; M. d., Middle Door; v., the Flat; 
D. v., Door in Flat; k. C, Right of Centre; L. c, Left of Centre. 

B. B. C. C. L. C. L. 

V.The reader is supposed to be upon the Stage, facing the audience. 



A NEW COMEDY! 



And an Entirely Successful One. 



(0)- 



PRIHTED FROM THE AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL 
MANUSCRIPT. 

The Heroic Dutchman 

OF SEVENTY-SIX, 



BY V. B. GIM ISrNELL. 



The following are the characters represented: 

FRED, the Heroic Dutchman 

COLONEL BROWN An old man, and a Tory— an ex- 

■ , „^„ ^^„„„ Colonel of the French and Indian war. 

MAJOR JONES a Tory, and a British Officer. 

HARRY WALTERS, a Rebel Captain. 

CAPTAIN LILE, a British Officer. 

SAM, colored servant of Colonel Brown's. 

TOM, British Corporal. 

SENTINEL, 

MAY BROWN 1 , 7j . „ , D 

K\TE BROWN / daughters of Col. Brown. 

BRIDGET, 

This play was presented by its author a number of years from Mss., and re- 
ceived everywhere presented with unbounded enthusiasm. The character of 
the Dutchman is very, very laughable, and cannot fail to "bring down the 
house" every time. A negro character also is very funny. It has beside 
these, old man, villian, two juveniles, and two utility. The ladies are lead- 
ing, juvenile and Irish comedy. 

The scenery is simple, the piece can be produced on any stage. 

4®~ There is no charge for its production. Order a copy, read it and 
laugh— Produce it and let your friends do the same. Price 15c. per copy. 
Address, 






A. D. AMES, Publisher, 

CLYDE, O. I 
srrifwif 



EVERY AMATEUR 

WANTS A COPY , 
And Should Order it at Once! I 



HINTS TO AMATEURS 

BY A. D. AMES. 



A book of useful information for Amateurs and others, written 
expressly for those who are giving public entertainments — and who 
wish to make their efforts successful — containing much information 
never before given. Mr. Ames has had many years experience, and 
in this work gives many hints which cannot fail to be of great bene- 
fit to all. 



Do you wish to know How to act? 

Do you wish to know How to make up ? 

Do you wish to know How to make fuses ? 

Do you wish to know How to be prompted ? 

Do you wish to know How to imitate clouds? 

Do you wish to know How to imitate waves? 

Do you wish to know How to make thunder? 

Do you wish to know How to produce snow ? 

Do you wish to know How to articulate ? 

D? you wish to know How to make lightning? 

Do you wish to know How to produce a crash ? 

Do you wish to know How to make a wind-storm? 

Do you wish to know How to be successful on the stage? 

Do you wish to know The effects of the drama on the mind ? 

Do you wish to know How to assign parts successfully ? 

Do you wish to know The duties of the property man ? 

Do you wish to know How to arrange music for plays? 

Do you wish to know Many hints about the stage ? 

Do you wish to know How to form a dramatic club ? 

Do you wish to know The duties of a manager? 

Do you wish to know The duty of the prompter? 

Do you wish to know How to conduct rehearsals? 

Do you wish to know The best method of studying? 

Do you wish to know How to make a stage laugh ? 

Do you wish to know How to burn a colored fire ? 

Do you wish to know How to make a rain storm ? 

Do you wish to know A short history of the drama? 

Do you wish to know All about scene painting? 

Do you wish to know Macready's method of actiDg? 

If you wish to know the above, read Hints to Amateurs, it will be 
Eent you for 15 ce&t* ner copy. 



Ames' Plays— Continued. 



NO. 

FARCES CONTINUED. 

84 Cheek Will Win 3 

49 Der Two Surprises 1 1 

72 Deuce is in Him 5 1 

19 Did I Dream it 4 3 

42 Domestic Felicity I I 

188 Dutch Prize Fighter 3 

148 Eh ? What Did You Say.. 3 1 

154 Fun in a Post Office 4 2 

184 Familv Discipline 1 

13 Give Me My Wife 3 3 

66 Hans, the Dutch J. P 3 1 

116 Hash 4 2 

120 H. M. S. Plum 1 1 

103 How Sister Paxey got Her 

Child Baptized 2 1 

50 How She has Own W;iy... 1 3 
140 How He Popped Quest'n.. I 1 

74 How to Tame M- in -Law.. 4 2 

35 How Stout Y'r Getting... 5 2 

47 In the Wrong Box 3 

95 In the Wrong Clothes 5 3 

11 John Smith 5 3 

99 Jumbo Jum 4 3 

82 Killing Time 1 i 

1S2 Kitties Wedding Cake 2 2 

127 L ck Skillet Wedding 2 2 

106 Lodgings for Two 3 

139 Matrimonial Bliss I 1 

69 Mother's Fool 6 1 

1 Mr. and Mrs. Pringle 7 2 

158 Mr. Hudson's Tiger Hum 1 1 
23 Mv Heart's in Highl'ds.. 4 3 

32 My Wife's Relations 4 4 

186 My Day and Now-a-Days 1 

44 Obedience 1 2 

33 OntheSly 3 2 

57 Paddy Miles' Boy 5 2 

165 Persecuted Dutchman 6 3 

195 Poor Pilicody 32 

159 Quiet Family 4 4 

171 Rough Diamond 6 3 

180 Ripples 2 

43 Schnaps I 1 

13S Sewi.ig Circle of Period.. 5 
115 S. H. A. M. Pinafore 5 3 

55 Somebody's Nobodv 3 2 

137 Taking: the Census' 1 I 

40 That Mysterious B'dle ... 2 2 

38 The Bewitched Closet 5 2 

i 131 The Cigarette 4 2 

j 101 The Coming Man 3 1 

167 Turn Him Out 3 3 

i 68 The Sham Professor 4 

I 54 The Two T. J's 4 2 



1. p. no. 11. p. 

28 Thirtv-threenxtBritbd'y 4 2 

142 Tit for Tat 2 1 

151 Wanted a Husband 2 1 

5 When Women Weep 3 2 

56 Wooing Under Difficulties 4 3 

70 Which will he Marry 2 8 

135 Widower's Trials 5 4 

147 Waking Him Up 1 2 

155 Why they Joined the Re- 
beccas 4 

lit Yankee Duelist 2 2 

157 Yankee Peddler. 7 3 



ETHIOPIAN FARCES. 

15 An Unhappy Pair , 1 1 

172 Black Shoemaker 4 2 

98 Black Statue 3 2 

145 Cuff's Luck 2 1 

190 Crimps Trip 5 

27 Fetter Lane to Gravesend.. 2 
153 Haunted House... - 2 

24 Handy Andy 2 

77 Joe's Visit 2 

88 Mischievous Nigger 4 

128 Musical Darkey 2 

90 No Cure, No Pay 3 

61 Not as Deaf as He Seems 2 

150 Old Pompey 1 

109 0= her People's Children.. 3 

134 Pomp's Pranks 2 

177 Quarrelsome Servants 3 

96 Rooms to Let 2 

107 School 5 

133 Seeing Bosting 3 

179 Sham Doctor 

94 16,000 Years Ago 

25 Sport with a Sportsman... 

92 Stage Struck Darkey 

10 Stocks Up, Stocks Down.. 
64 That Boy Sam 

122 The Select School 

118 The Popcorn Man 

6 The Studio 

108 Those Awlul Boys 

4 Twain's Dodging 

197 Tricks 6 '. 

198 Uncle Jeff 5 2 

170 U. S. Mail 2 2 

156 Wig-Maker and His Ser- 
vants ... 3 



3 

3 

2 

2 

2 

3 

5 

3 1 

3 

5 <] 

3. 1 



GUIDE BOOKS. 



17 

130 



Hints on Elocution 
Hints to Amateurs. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



— ^THEAT 

AND FANCY CO T5»w» 





Attention is called to this list of WIGS, BEARDS, MUS- 
TACHES, WHISKERS, &c. 

We employ a wig-maker especially to manufacture goods for our trade, 

and can guarantee satisfac tion. All goods made 

under our personal supervision. 



In ordering be careful to state every particular, ». e. size, color, etc. Any wig for 
special character or occasion can be made to order. 

1 >— Tl<te#rT-"< 

White Old Man $4.50|Dress Scalp, with parting $5.00 

Trim Grray 4.50 Scalps 2.75 

Yankee 4.50 Gentlemanly Irish, with parting 5.00 

Irish 4.50 Bald Wigs, Grey or White 4.50 

Oop [all colors] 4.50 Rip Van Winkle 4.50 

Fright 5.00 Grey Dress Wig, with parting 4.50 



Negro 90 

white old man] 1.50 

grey " ] 1.50 

with top knot] 1.50 

wench] 5.00 

Sir Peter Teazle 5.00 

Shvlock 4.50 

Court Wig with Bag 4,50 

Tic 4.5il 

Paul Pry 4.50 

Dundreary 5.50 

Light ]>r<^< Wig, with parting 5.50 

Rough Irishman .' 4.00 

Flaxen Country Boy 3.50 

Physician or Lawyer [white! 5.00 

Dress Wig with Eyebr'ws & Whisk'rs 5.50 

Dress, without parting 4.00 

Duplex; can be worn either as a male 
or female Wig; very convenient; in 

reality 2 Wigs in 1 6.00 

Flow Wigs, Long Hair, suitable for 
most Shakespcrian characters, Fairy 



Plays, &e. 



White " " " 4.50 

Clowns, in colors 4.50 

Pantaloon, Wig and Beard 5.00 

Robinson Crusoe 4.50 

.Monk 4.00 

Box and Cox, 2 Wigs, each Wig 3.50 

Chinaman, with Pigtail 5.00 

Dress Wig, superior 5.00 

Red and Brown Bald Wigs 4.50 

LADIES. 

Court Wis? 6.50 

Grand Duchess 6.50 

Lady Teazle 7.00 

Marie Antoinette 7.50 

Mother-in-Law 5.50 

Female, plain, Long Hair, so that lady 

c;:n do up as she wishes, a really line 

Wig 10.00 

' rape Masks, a substitute for 

blacking the face 2.00 

Ladies' Wigs, Blonde, Light and Dark 

Bro vn and Black, made up in pres- 



5.50 ent fashion 6.00 

Comic Old Woman's Front Piece $2 50. 



BEARDS, WHISKERS, MUSTACHES, &c. 



Side Whiskr's & M'stache on wire $1.25 

Side Whiskers and Mustache, ou 

wire, sup rior 1.50 

Side Whis ters, no Mustache, wire LOO 

Sjde Whiskers &, Mustache, Gauze -." ,; 

Side Whiskers and Mustache, on 

gauze, superior 2.25 

Side Whiskers, without Mustache, 

on gause 1.50 

Side Whiskers, without Mustache, 

on gauze, superior 1.75 

Full Beard 1.75 

" " superior 2.00 



Full Beard without Mustache 

Full Beard, no Mustache, superior..,, 
Mustache and Chin Beard, combined 

Imperials 

Full Chin Beard 

Mustaches on wire 

" gause 



. 1.50 

. 1.75 

. 2.00 

. .30 

. 1.25 

. .35 

. .40 



CRAPE IIAIR-For making False 
Whiskers, Mustaches. &c. 
Colors— Black, White, Light Brown, 
Dark Brown, Iron Grey & Bed. 
Price per yard 20 



Address 



A, D.AMES, PUB'R 



LOCK BOX 102. 



CLYDE, OHIO. 



